zaia

To be honest, Zaia isn’t totally certain why she’s still here. For a year, she’s grazed her way over the Crossing with little to no difference in her routine each day. Some days she traveled further than others, but still she remained on the central island despite how little it had to offer her.

Today is different.

Today, Zaia finds herself rushing into the ocean and swimming toward one of the other land masses she can see resting on the surface of the sea. The water is cold but that is to be expected in autumn. The swim does not take long, and soon she is striding across new earth as saltwater streams from her red mane and tail. Her body is dark from the ocean, like the color of dried blood. The banding on her legs is obscured by her wet coat. When she dries she will be a healthy rust-red again, but for now she looks sleek as a seal.

The mare trots further inland and stares around herself curiously. The ground rises sharply around her, and it is rocky beneath her feet. She follows the edge of a ridge and ascends to the top of it to get a better vantage point of the land. This is what she had left home for: adventure, change. Newness. The Kiger mustang comes to a stop at the lip of a ridge and lets the heavy wind dry her. Her eyes close marginally in the face of the buffeting air, but she stares across the green and brown landscape with her ears forward and her hooves squared. This land looks promising, she thinks, and grins.