Avangeline always woke before the first light of morning. It was what she remembered as a foal, being nudged awake by her father or mother’s gentle muzzle and blinking sleep-filled eyes to watch the goddess they worshipped lift the sun over the horizon. Avangeline had always thought dawn was prettiest as the black of night was slowly stripped away and the faint orange, white, pink haze of dawn crawled across the sky. When the first little rays of sunlight caught the dew gathered on stalks of grass and made them twinkle she’d thought it was magic.
Years had come and gone since Avangeline had awoken on Crossing Isle scared, alone, and far from the home she swore she remembered. There were no horses here like the ones at home; there were no deities worshipped. The secrets of what she remembered as her history were kept tightly sealed. The more time passed the more she worried the entirety was a figment of her imagination. To denounce it meant to denounce the love she remembered from her parents and it was the only reason she could not.
So every morning Avangeline watched the world become dressed in the softest haze of light. Every morning she separated herself from the herd enough so they might not hear her softly whispered words but would know she was near. Avangeline tipped her black muzzle to the sky and let her eyes fill with dawn as she prayed to a goddess she didn’t want to admit could be nothing more than a false memory. If it meant the memory of her mother and father remained true, Avangeline would continue to pray to her goddess. If one day her goddess returned to her to deliver her again to the valley of her birth, Avangeline told herself she would go.
No matter how deeply bound her bonds had become on these islands.
Avangeline’s prayer finished and the quiet of the morning invaded the air. Her ear flicked back at the soft, rumbling sound of a whicker at the opposite end of the oasis. It was followed shortly by another gentle call, to which Avangeline twisted her thin neck so one eye could look through the early morning gloom toward the shifting bodies of her herd. A still-soft whinny left her muzzle loud enough to reach the ears of her companions but not so loud she disturbed the sweetness of daybreak. She began to turn about and walked the shoreline until she saw both Gabbar and Evaline, a kind smile quick to rest on her lips.
When she and Evaline spoke last, the older mare had succumb to tears before leaving Salem altogether. Avangeline had not betrayed her privacy by telling anyone about the moment and though she spared her a quick, concerned glance, she looked back to Gabbar shortly after. “Good morning.”
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