Dia

Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it

This was leaving me all excited! I had begun to think that I knew no one on this place that had been a home for two years. Well… not this island. Maybe those I knew were still in the Ice Prison of Tinuvel. You wouldn’t catch me on that wasteland again. As long as I had a say in it. Come to think of it, I’d never had a say on that island. But doesn’t matter.

Sahin reached out and pressed his muzzle against my cheek. Yes, I flushed. As pretty as I am, I’m still rather unused to kind touches from stallions — the scars on my rump, shoulder and chest should make that perfectly clear. But they are old scars, from mean old Brutes. Or more specifically Brute. Maybe I’m lucky and he was whisked away by the sea ages ago.

I returned the gesture. And gave the girl, Mera, a sweet smile.

“Nahce make’n yar aquan’ance,” I say to her. “’N, much-beddar den da lagoon.” I say the Lagoon like the dirty word it is. Sorry, Ma, but I do not ever desire to go back to it. I looked at Mera who just seems to shift her weight. Nervous energy like me! Wonderful to have a kindred spirt. He did not introduce her as his daughter, but she seemed to treat him as a father.

“Sa, da ya pe’fer Ezmerallda or Mera?” It is always important to address others by their preferred name. Best to find out quickly and not have to be corrected! It happens from time to time though, where I screw up and forget to ask and just get ahead of myself. Such fun times.

I pick up my own feet and move a bit. I’d like to think I’ve calmed since Satitba was born. Though, I happen to doubt it’s by much. I mean, running around in circles (or figure eights or any shape I desire) still sounds like a lot of fun from time to time.

“Sa, Sa’in,” I turn my attention back to the stallion. “Dis liddle patch o’ hea’en yars?”