Meadow

It’s so quiet.

This far into the main land, it’s so quiet. The roar of the sea is gone and honestly, I’m glad. It gets to almost be as bad as a bee buzzing about your head; incessant, constant, unabating. I think the ocean is beautiful, but I was tired of all the noise. It’s why I came here in the first place.

I’ve always found it odd that there can be snow on the ground this close to the ocean. I’d always associated the sea with warm weather, but here I am, standing in the middle of this meadow, ankle deep in snow with my breath steaming around my face, relishing the quiet. I love the snow. It’s quiet. It has a strange way of muffling the world it blankets.

I inhale, the cold air finding my lungs and lighting them up like a Christmas tree. I exhale in a snort and peer up at the grey, sunless sky from under my black forelock. It was snowing still, lightly, only adding a dusting to the top of the stale crunch that was already covering the meadow. That crunch was one of my favorite parts; I loved hearing it under my hooves as I walked. It was the only sound to be heard in this snow-covered meadow.

I stop and flick my ears forward, listening. Listening for nothing, listening to nothing. I almost don’t mind being alone, but part of me was yearning for someone to talk to; it had been too long since I’d had any kind of friend. I had heard these islands held a lot of promise. Promise of what, however, I’m not sure. But that’s where the excitement was for me; I love a challenge, an adventure. Starting new here would be the ultimate adventure. Or so I hoped.