The mare stepped out at a trot and I followed it, keeping pace easily as it searched for its daughter. The filly’s scent was stale, even when we reached the edge of the woods. If the girl had left she was long gone, and no longer my concern. I stood next to the draft mare and waited to see what action it would take next. Its ears turned back but I recognized it as a sign of grieving and not aggression. Years ago I might have attacked the mare for making such a gesture, but I was older now and understood there were many different moods to display with one’s ears and not all involved anger.

It dipped its head and I exhaled a low, slow breath. I understood the pain of a lost child. Only time and movement made anything change. I hadn’t felt better about losing my family until I’d started a new one, and the change of territory would likely help the mare rid itself of memories of the blind child. I nudged its shoulder with my own before I lead it along the edge of the trees and to the beach. I felt the mare and I had an understanding, and so I did not drive it into the water before me but instead swam out and tread water as I glanced back to see if it was following me. Only once I was certain it would keep pace with me did I strike out with deep strokes and pull myself further into the ocean. Our destination was the Crossing, and I felt my hooves touch the familiar shore as the sun flared red along the horizon. I did not know how long we would stay here, among the bachelor herd, but for the first time in my life I was looking forward to it.