Meadow

Zharko’s searching never ceased. Though he had quickly come to the conclusion his brother had not landed on Tinuvel, he still paced the rocky beaches of the northern island as if every day there was a new chance. There was always that possibility that some how, Zeru would make it here and they would be united again. As each day came and went, Zharko’s resolution turned to frustration. It felt like he was wasting his time. There was little chance his brother would come looking for him, Zharko had to be the one to take charge. The young man bared his flat teeth at the sea before rushing into it. To truly search for his sibling, he came to the conclusion he would have to keep making trips to the central most island, the land he had come to know was the place where others gathered. If Zeru’s scent was not picked up there, at least the young man would be able to get better barings, or perhaps talk to horses of other places.

This swim was significantly easier than his previous ones. At least it was warmer. But when the storm hit he could feel the hitch of fear in his throat. His first day here he had nearly died. Every time he looked into the waves or felt them crash over his head he worried he still might, or that the bones of his brother stirred in the sand beneath him. As soon as he could, he pulled himself out of the water, his hooves digging hard into the ground. Ignoring the rain that started to drench his already soaked coak, the boy spun and lashed out a challenge at the waves that dared once again pull him under. With a snort he turned away. One day he decided he would be the master of these waters. Ears laced back he turned and froze, just as a pale blue gray body hoisted itself away from the beach. For a second, Zharko thought he saw a ghost, he thought all his hopes came true. Not a sound passed his lips as he dashed after the other horse.

It was not long before realization cut away at his hope. This was not his brother. Older, and missing the tell-tale patches, and being female, she was a symbol that Zharko was still failing in his task of finding his blood. Grieving for just a second, Zharko opened his eyes again and studied her. She clearly had a rough swim and was not entirely unlike him when he had first pulled himself from the water in the midst of winter. Just like a stranger had offered him life, he called out to the filly.

Hey! Are you - He paused, realizing he was not in any position to help. Soaking wet his dark steel coat was nearly black. Awkward tufting mane fell into his eyes, clearly unsure right now if it wanted to thicken for his breed or thin for the coming of summer. Long legs and thin body were still trying to recover from his starvation from youth while growing into the body of a colt who had lived a year. She was bigger than him, though some could argue he faired the swim better. Still, he thought of what Cinnamon would do. Even with nothing to offer, the stallion had tried. Are you okay? He hoped someone would have offered his brother the same chance.