As she ran along the coastline of this godforsaken wasteland, her anxiety was beginning to morph into anger. She channeled it into her movement, focusing on striking the wet sand as forcefully as she could. Every few strides, the damned ocean would rush toward her and suck at her hooves as though it was trying to pull her back to its depths. If she hadn’t been traveling at a full gallop, she’d have used some breath to tell it to fuck right off for taking her away from her friend. As it was, Fjö∂ur had none to spare.
Her white legs carried her quickly – to her, at least – away from one type of hill to another. These new ones were golden and appeared to be made entirely of sand. As the coastal breeze swept over them, a haze of blowing sand appeared to float away from their peaks. In different circumstances, she might have stopped to gaze in awe. As it was, she was far too focused on the task at hand – quickly finding anyone who could help her.
A frothy white lather of sweat had by now built up on her dark coat, and her thick blonde mane was starting to stick to her neck in the heat. Her lungs burned with effort, as did her legs, and she slowed her pace. Squealing in frustration at her body’s limitations, she promised herself that if she could make it around the next curve in the coastline she’d take a break.
Fate was on Fjödur’s side today – finally – because as she trotted heavily around that bend, she saw someone else. She stopped, shocked. It had taken forever but she had found another horse on this godforsaken land heap. And, bonus, this one didn’t remind her of anyone unsavory. She staggered forward, her breath coming in gasps, and called out to the bay stranger. “Oh I hope to gods you can talk.” She stood in place, the heat radiating from the sand unpleasantly up toward her face. The little mare was too exhausted to be as vigilant as she had been before. Running in sand was not about to become her new hobby.
FJÖÐUR
mare . icelandic horse . seven . silver black tobiano . 13 hh |