Was I left behind?
Tell me, tell me I survived.
Perhaps I ignored the warning signs. But when the mare excuses herself abruptly and heads for the shoreline, I am flabbergasted. My gaze follows her but my body remains frozen in my confusion, unsure of what is happening, as she dives into the sea. She doesn't move to swim away, but my heart is still beating fiercely in my chest. Several minutes pass by and I'm racking my brain for answers. She seemed to ease a bit through our conversation, even smiling once. But I realize she too backed away from me, and was shifting her weight uncomfortably over her legs. Sanibel had mentioned the Savannah. I am reminded of the stories that were told of other parts of the islands that had crumbled away into the sea many years ago. Perhaps Sanibel's history here reached that far back. I know my own mother, Evaline, remembered that day vividly. Could it have been something I said?
Eventually I give in and follow her, taking quick, but long strides across the yellow grasses until the earth gives way to sand. I halt again just as the surf reaches my ankles, the small waves lapping over my hooves. The sea is cold and choppy. I can't imagine why she'd want to plunge her whole body into it unless she planned to leave Luthien behind for something else. I whinny to her from my position on the shoreline, my tone laced with apprehension.
Nervous energy causes me to prance in place and I eventually begin to pace back and forth in the damp sand and shallow water. This is stupid, I think, while expelling a strong snort. Despite my better judgement, I wade deeper into the sea to get to her. Sanibel is nearly engulfed in the water, but when I reach her, the depths merely reach my chest. Nevertheless, the water is cold and so is the wind, and I'm not looking forward to when I have to emerge back onto the sandy shore again.
"Are you alright?" I ask, keeping my distance from her, but speaking loud enough so my hoarse voice carries over the unrelenting wind. The concern and confusion is ever apparent on my face.
I feel this sudden urge to explain myself, to tell Sanibel everything. Maybe it was me and my moody behavior, my stand off approach to every other horse I meet. My life hasn't felt "normal" in quite some time. "I'm sorry." I begin, my voice deflated but my gaze strict upon her. "You deserve to know that I haven't been acting much like myself lately." This confession of sorts begins to feel ridiculous, given we're standing in the ocean on a blustery winter day. "The mother of my children, someone I cared deeply for, died unexpectedly and recently." I blurt out. "It's been difficult to process."
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