Meadow

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The meadow still rests in a winter slumber.

With each passing day the fresh snow dissipates. In it’s place is mud. Thick, sticky stuff that coats your legs and tangles your tail (especially when you have such a long one as Mayson does). It reminds her of the quicksand that was just beyond her old herd’s territory lines. That stuff was a nightmare.

She has seen nary a soul in the time she has been here. At night she hears owls, rodents and the occasional lone cry of a coyote but nothing more. Mayson has gleaned that this Meadow must be some sort of passing, a place that was home to none, but a channel for something else. She often smells the remnants of visitors but can’t seem to find any when she investigates.

Sadly she is stuck here, at least for the time being. The spring storms have been fierce and the ocean has not been friendly. Mayson has tested the waters on several occasions only to find the undertow a little too formidable for a petite mare from a desert climate.

No, she has accepted her fate. From one cage to another, Mayson seems to always find herself captive. Her stomach growls. With a sigh, Mayson lifts her dainty frame from its resting place among the dirt and old pine needles. With purposeful strides she moves out to forage for food all the while thinking maybe today is the day she’ll find adventure.

Mason soon finds a nice patch of grass and begins to chew, letting her mind wander (as usual). So far, life away from her parents is much more dull than Mayson had anticipated and dare she say, it’s been lonelier too. For while her parents may have sheltered her well beyond their right to do so, at least they had been someone to talk to, even if they had been boring and strict.

All of a sudden, something streaks right past the edge of her nose. Mud flies into the air and splatters her face and chest. Mayson yanks her head up and watches as a foal darts away. With a quick glance to the right, Mayson’s icy blue eyes settle on a mare who appears to be the foal’s mother (or at least Mayson assumes it’s the mother). She slowly registers that the mother is in a conversation with another mare, a mare just about Mayson’s height but a completely different build.

Mayson stares in awe - 3 other equines in one place! More than she had seen in weeks! With a child-like snort of excitement and a bob of her head, the gray mare trots briskly towards the pair, dodging piles of snow as she goes. The wind is cold and bites its way mercilessly through her long, dark locks but Mayson doesn’t care. There are horses here, real life, breathing horses, and they are talking - talking!

“Hello!” she calls out excitedly as soon as she is in earshot. “I haven’t seen anyone in weeks! Where is everyone? Or was there an apocalypse, or some sort of horse-killing virus?!” Mayson could quickly make up hundreds of stories, all more wild and outlandish than the one before but she remembers her mother chiding her at herd meetings, “Pipe down May, no one wants to hear your imaginary stories. Grow up.”

She stops, and a sad look crosses her face as she remembers that cold mare who raised her. With a snort and a shake of her head, Mayson dismisses the unpleasant thought. Never mind her mother, she wasn’t here now. She lifts her eyes to the two who stood before her. Today is going to be a good day, she just knew it!

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// Mare // Gray [ ] // Arabian // 14.3hh // 4 // No children // a fable character //