Into the water, prance, onto the sand again. Prance, buck, rear; attack the water with exaggerated fury. Dive in again, dive out again, trip but don’t fall all the way. Attack the water again and --

A crack of thunder interrupted Mercedes’s play and made her flinch away from her whirlpool. A summer storm was stirring up gusts of warm and cool air, making them twirl and dance with frightful grace. The mare lifted her head to examine the purple sky, and as she did so, she caught a glimpse of the stallion farther down the beach, pacing by the angry waves.

At first, Mercy thought to invite him to join her in her fun. However, as she gleefully tore across the sand toward him, she saw his anger and slid to a halt. Was this a different stallion? Her stallion never seemed mad, but no, this was indeed Fundamental. She caught his scent and was somewhat reassured, allowing herself forward once more, not understanding that perhaps she should be afraid of him.

“Hey.” She tossed the word at him, more of a call than a yell, despite the impressive volumes of sound coming from the sea. She still didn’t know his name; having been presented with the terms of gaining such knowledge during their last meeting, she had suddenly become very shy and chickened out at the last moment. By now, however, Mercy had forgotten her shyness and was quite bold once again, though she held back a little. Though she didn’t know what it was or why it was, she recognized something sad in his anger.

“Hey,” she said again, “if you’re mad about last time we talked, I just haven’t ever really talked to anyone before. I don’t know how to. I didn’t mean to say anything stupid.” As if to prove her social awkwardness, she blurted, “I know I don’t really own this place or anything, so if you want I can stop pretending like I do.” It was partially true; Mercy had only recently figured out the clockwork behind territory and gender roles.
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