Something about the winter island was familiar, and it tickled the furthest corners of Cerosi’s
memory as though she had actually been here once but could not remember. She knew for a fact that she hadn’t, but that only made it harder to figure out why she had the feeling of nostalgia. Maybe it was one of the stories her father had told her as a filly before leaving her with the tribe. That was very likely, so Cerosi chalked it up to her father’s vivid storytelling and the coincidence that this island was similar to his tales.

It was beautiful, just as he had described. She ignored the eerie similarities; she had not seen much of the world in her young life, and it wasn’t impossible for landscapes to repeat themselves, right? She stepped to the narrow shore of the Inlet’s namesake and stared out across the water. She wondered where her father was now. She had never really been angry with him for what he’d done, but now she felt some type of frustration about it that was hard to describe. Why, if she felt quite happy in the Desert with Cain and Akello who both treated her with kindness and respect, did she come here? Was it wanderlust, plain and simple, or was it something else? Her dark ears flicked back on her skull and pushed into her thick, pale mane. Had her father been happy with her and decided to abandon her anyway? Or had he a good reason to leave his young daughter with a savage and cruel herd? She stomped once, angrily, and the sound seemed to echo across the water and reverberate through her dark body. She almost did not hear the young stallion approach until he spoke.

Cherokee!

Cerosi whipped around to face the pale man. His stance and his breathing clearly indicated he had rushed toward her only to stop some distance away, and the carbon mare cursed herself inwardly for not hearing the footfalls of a running stallion. She had been distracted. She was lucky he had stopped, whatever his intentions were, but she still eyed him with distrust and residual bitterness from her moments of memory. You’re not her, the stranger whispered, and Cerosi realized that this was odd behavior for someone who probably lived here to approach an outsider. Did he think she was someone else?

”I’ve never met you, so no, I’m probably not who you think I am,” she said, and it came out a bit ruder than she meant it to. She sighed, unsure how to come back from the spicy response and feeling guilty about it; the stallion looked upset, and she had expected him to be territorial. ”I can help you look for her, if you want,” she offered, her tone friendlier this time, though Cerosi too was upset and confused. She didn’t know whether to give her name, and in the end she opted not to; not yet, anyway. She did not know if the stallion was going to be friendly with her or if he would decide to attack or drive her away, or worse, keep her here. She would have to wait and see, and gauge his response before offering any information about herself.

• CEROSI •