m e n k h e t

the forest called to her, pine trees dusted with frost and snow in heaps having fallen from icy branches. her home echoes in her mind, driving her every step, pushing her further and further from comfort toward the abyss of the unknown. she has left nuru behind, hoping he will understand she will return shortly as she can, after doing all she can to protect their home. she hopes he will find strength and courage, as sometimes he seems so like a child, afraid and timid, and she hopes he feels the weight of her trust. she had tried to think of excuses not to leave, the cold, the turbulent sea, the risk of storms and other catastrophes, but none outweight the risk of losing her sacred forest.

she pulls herself from the shore and is oppressed by the cold of the inlet. she shakes violently in an effort to rid herself of as much of the icy water as she can and then sets forth at a brisk walk, determined and unafraid. she had heard rumors that this island was home to two territories lead by mares. she intended to discover the truth and befriend and unite, perhaps they, in addition to shamwari would be grateful for an ally. the forest was cold, dark and unlit by the warm rays of sun that occasionally shown in winter, but it was nothing like the cold of the tundra. snow crackled beneath her hooves and her breath remained in the air like small clouds of smoke. she whinnied loudly, announcing her presence, but continued walking so as to try, desperately, to warm up. as she walked further in she could see hoof prints here and there in the snow. they were massive. the cogs of her mind turned slower in the frigid atmosphere of the inlet but suddenly she glanced around warily, hoping that whoever she came upon first would be benevolent, she would be sadly outmatched against the owner of such large hooves, especially in this unwelcoming weather.

as the wind blew, sending a shiver up her spine, she caught a familiar scent, though it washed a look of disgust across her face and caused her ears to flatten into the dark mass of mane at her poll. he had been here. she only hoped he wasn’t still here, the next time they met, more blood would be sure to spill.

mare : 5 : sooty buckskin : arabian mutt : 15.2 : kafkaesque
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