Meadow

Patient as ever, Zimri stood quietly beside the stallion as he studied the water and seemed to mull something over in his mind. Her dark eyes watched him while he thought, careful not to miss the small tells in his face or the flick of his ears. She wondered what troubled him so, to the point where he had tried to destroy himself.

He spoke again, answering her question and all her attention was focused on him and his words. Shame struck hard and shattered hearts and souls into pieces. It was so hard to put them back together again. Even with help nothing was the same. She blinked in surprise though and smiled at him. I disagree. You are here, you are alive. I would think that means you have survived. She stepped closer, her nose reaching out to him to comfort, or at least offer the touch of another equine.

She considered him for a moment. What is ‘survival’, to you? She had known many stallions thirsted for power and control, while others were content to simply roam. She had come to know that there were as many differences to a life well spent as there were horses to live those lives. Forces outside of ones own body often twisted and turned one’s own belief into what a good life would be. She breathed to herself, forgetting that some of the questions she would ask him she had yet to answer for herself. An ear flicked uncertainty, still she stayed, determined to stay by this stallion’s side and for him to see the strength she already saw in him, as a creature who was still alive, and able to speak to a stranger without flight.