Meadow

He rambled along a dusty track, face turned to the wind. Beneath a thick, scruffy forelock, the brumby’s eyes were bright and unfocused. His chest thrummed with the tune he was humming subconsciously. A lull in the wind had him pausing as he heard himself, and the melody caught in his throat. It was deeply familiar, and yet, for some reason, he couldn’t remember the words. There was a phantom voice whispering on the breeze, but as the brumby tried to focus, the murmurings faded, and he was left grasping at nothing. But no, there was still something… An incessant sound, coming and going, like the breathing of some great beast slumbering just beyond the next rise. This piqued the scruffy brute’s curiosity, and he eagerly cast aside the uneasiness that had crept up on him.

Fletcher stood upon the crest of the hill, staring down at the glittering sea. There was not a soul in sight, and it was all he could do to push back the loneliness that washed over him, as the white-capped waves washed over the rocky shore. The moment passed, and Fletcher sighed in relief, turning aside with a lopsided grin plastered haphazardly across his maw. It never had a chance to stick though, slid right off as the chestnut gazed across the vast emptiness, expression tightening for a moment with confusion. How strange. He could’ve sworn…

With a snort, and a shake of his head, the brumby bolted for the ocean, charging into the surf without hesitating. He’d seen islands on the horizon, and headed straight for them, muzzle tilted above the choppy surf as his strong, stocky legs dragged him through the swell. Never had been one for backing down from a challenge, Fletcher. (But then, he’d never thought he’d be one for settling down, either. But he wasn’t settled. Was he?)

As surely as the ocean currents pulled at him, he felt something else there too, beckoning him in another way entirely. The brumby took this as a sign, and pressed on with renewed determination, prancing along the tideline as he wildly shook water from his darkened coat. He looked a right sight, sand strewn up his legs, flaxen mane soddenly plastered to his neck. The brumby paused, peering inland from where he hovered at the edge of the beach. Still no signs of life, but the scents on the wind, fresh and foreign, gave him cause for hope.

And here, of all places, the rugged newcomer came across something that reminded him of a place far from here, a place that had felt like home. Fletcher had found his path, and he’d follow it ‘til its end. It led him to the edge of a meadow, and he paced, frustrated, losing his lead among a tangle of other scents. Muttering irritably under his breath, the chestnut brumby tossed his head so as to see better, and froze as he laid his dark eyes upon a pale figure in the distance. Huh. Fancy that.

Leaping into motion, Fletch made straight for the lone stallion. “Oi!” he bellowed, salt-damp mane and tail streaming behind him. He slowed as he closed the distance between them, muscles quivering beneath his hide. His eyes gleamed either side of the white blaze that streaked his face, his expression unreadable and his excitement turning into apprehensive anticipation.

“Gray, mate,” Fletcher said breathlessly after a moment, settling into a casual posture. “If you wanted to go bush so badly, you could’ve just said.” There was a moment of silence then, that seemed as if it would stretch on into awkwardness, but before it had a chance, that same old crooked smile turned up the corners of his mouth. It had been some time since they’d last seen each other, hadn’t it? And Fletcher felt like something had happened in between the then and the now, something serious and important, but he couldn’t quite remember…