Rhadra has kept mainly to the eastern side of the land—island, she reminds herself— since her arrival and this afternoon sees her back on the shoreline. The black mare can’t tell if this is the exact stretch of beach where she initially washed up, but it feels good to be back by the ocean, which to her is still a new phenomena. Driftwood is scattered down the length of the beach and she has planted herself in the soft sands in front of a thick log worn pale and smooth by the saltwater.
She stands just out of reach of the lapping water, reluctant to get her feathers wet, and hangs her head near the incoming tide to admire the shimmering stones and sand revealed after each retreating wave. There are tiny fish here, much too small and swift for her to even consider trying to snatch (especially since to do so would require her to wet her hooves), and in between laughing at the feel of the ocean misting her white-snipped nose she watches the dark shapes flit about in the shallows.
Though the living things on the land are retreating inward and preparing for the long cold ahead, the sun on her back is warm, reassuring, and complements the brisk autumn day nicely. Today she is not concerned that she has yet to find a community with which to roam and keep warm throughout the long, dark winter. Today, Rhadra is content to keep company with the ocean. Tomorrow is soon enough to saddle herself again with worry. |