From where she wandered through the forest with the herd, Dickere had watched her sisters walk quietly toward the borders of the territory where the ocean would be waiting. She frowned, but tried not to think on it. Right now it was Hickere’s time to spend with Dock, not Dickere’s. If Dock wanted to walk around, so be it. That was her choice.
Yet slowly it began to bother Dickere when they weren’t returning. Instead of digging up tufts of grass she kept lifting her head and perking her ears toward where they’d went, watching expectantly. Her patience wore out quickly and she turned to look toward her nearest herd mate to inform them she was going to go and find her sisters. Without pausing for a response, Dickere turned and begun walking, her muscles coiled with tension as she went. With too much energy coursing in her blood and nerves jumping in her stomach it wasn’t long before her walk turned into an uncollected, choppy trot, head up and nostrils wide. The scent of her sisters was faded and, when she reached the shoreline, they were nowhere in sight.
There was only one island they would have gone to, but why?! Why would Hickere take Dock back to that place, back to where the most horrible and wretched thing had happened to her? Lyden had said the events that had occurred would change them all – from Dickere, to Hickere, to Dock – but Dickere was panicked every time Dock did something out of the ordinary. Lately it had been a sullen and antisocial attitude where she refused to go near the herd or talk to either Hickere or Dickere. She seemed angry all the time. Dickere’s heart was pounding in her chest as the cold winter air bit at her coat.
These were her sisters. She was hurt they hadn’t told her what was going on, but she couldn’t simply rest and wait for them to return to the forest. Dickere plunged into the salty ocean waters and began to swim, kicking her white-splashed legs out beneath the turbulent surf.
Yet Dickere had only swum the oceans of the Lost Islands once. During her desperate attempt to stay afloat she must have taken a wrong turn, for she pulled up onto an icy beach where the wind bit at her coat which wasn’t nearly thick enough for this islands weather. Was this Crossing? Did it undergo such a dramatic climate change during this season? A desperate whinny came from her lips as she stumbled, weak limbed, up the shoreline and further inland. She needed to find an enclosure, or another horse. Someone, anyone that could help her, that could tell her where she was. Fear pounded the heart fast and loud in her chest, the blood rushing in her ears.
of the forest
black sabino [aa Ee n/Sb1], fourteen.three hands, arabian cross filly, two years old, played by pirate |