The Lost Islands
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Live through this lie


Was I left behind?
Someone tell me, tell me I survived.



My heart is pounding in my ears, briefly deafening the sounds of the crash waves at my knees and the pitiful pleas from this mare. Her eyes are wide and frantic, her demeanor terrified. It transports me back to the Lagoon, scenes from my time there as a young stallion flashing to the forefront of my mind. I had watched the brutes there manhandle mares, of which they dubbed "trinkets", time and time again. I had seen the same look in this mare, on their faces as they were bitten and kicked when they didn't obey. Most of them didn't last for very long.

It wasn't a traumatic memory, but it was a memorable one. It was the first time in my life that had witnessed the differences, and often the abuse of power, between the sexes. Valentine in the Prairie had been a gentle creature. In hind sight, I am thankful for his influence over my upbringing.

What happens next is inevitable. I came here with a purpose and I wouldn't leave empty handed. I wasn't sure I was capable of explaining myself to her, not right now anyway, but I hope that one day this mare would understand why I'm here now, why I continue to use my overbearing weight to drive more distance between us and the stallion at the shoreline. I understood the consequences of my actions. I was about to have a target on my back. But I wasn't worried about Gabbar. It was her I worried about. I wasn't sure I was capable of living with someone I was holding against their will.

"Keep moving." I grunt, ears still pinned as we forge against the waves, the cool waters splashing against my chest and neck. I want her to stop talking, to stop pleading. It's making me dizzy, it's making that pitting feeling at the bottom of my gut grow and churn. It made me feel guilty. By the time the stallion has turned and called for her, the waves are collapsing over our backs. I can feel the sand beneath my hooves giving way, and my legs instinctively begin to churn against the waters. I hover as close to the mare's hip as possible, driving her forward and barking directions until the island of Luthien comes into view, and Gabbar is nothing more than a speck on the shoreline.



| Fresian Mutt | 15.3 | Chestnut | Evaline x Rook | Half-brother to Kasabian, Vita Nova | Vinyl | Photo © kimerleecury





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