“You
idiot.”The water’s edge, clear and shimmering as crystal, would have reflected her visage perfectly were it not for the thin wisps of gossamer morning fog. Still, she saw enough: the thin curve of her neck, the soft slope of her head. Her small ears, resting atop her poll, pricked and then swiveled back. Thin threads of shadow cut through the mist as she lashed her tail against her hindquarters. With a snort, the warmth of her breath chased off the thin clouds, and she saw the glint of her eyes at last.
She met her own gaze and squinted. The mare knew - or, at least, her dam had told her inasmuch, ad nauseum - that she was not plain-featured. And yet, as she looked upon herself, the only thing she could feel was disgust. It rose in her throat, burning, and before she knew what she was doing she had raised one of her legs, black as night, and struck against the surface of the water, destroying its calmness and with it her own image. “You fool,” she hissed, “you coward,” and wheeled away from the pebbly shores of the Falls. As the Arab found the edge of the forest, her small body blended seamlessly in and out of the long shadows. She took no care to quiet her steps. What was the point?
Kore had spent the last four years of her life made to be a trinket: a pretty young thing, naive, unable to be trusted to have any say in her own destiny. Too fine a jewel to display, for fear of it being stolen. A bauble kept away under lock and key. Her dam had made sure of that.
And now - now that she was here after everything, alone, without any knowledge of this place, separated forcibly by wind and sea - she almost wished she was back in her little box.