Meadow

The longer he searches, the more resigned Arneis becomes to the sheer futility of his goal. The islands aren’t that big, nothing that he couldn’t conceivably cover but what Arneis failed to consider is that wherever his mother is, she isn’t necessarily staying still. He’s also running on naught but a poor description, the hazy characteristics that could apply to anyone. Tall, young, a dark bay covered in spots on her back half and fading up into a light, mottled brown. She had golden eyes and a nasty attitude. Again, not much to go on - that description could fit any one of a thousand others. So he feels like he’s been running in circles, checking in the same places over and over, having the same fruitless conversations with no progress. He hasn’t met a single person yet who can help him in his hunt. Someone, somewhere must have seen her. Someone must know her. There’s no way she’s disappeared entirely, no way she’s simply gone; Arneis just won’t let himself consider that as a possibility.

The words of his other mother ring in his head, her disbelief at his quest so damning to his youthful, naive confidence. That didn’t even begin to touch on her offense when he explained that he needs to find her, needs to know the mare who birthed him. Her harsh words and quiet sobs are still ringing in his ears. Arneis left, and he really doesn’t know if he will be welcomed back.

The golden hour of sunset finds him wandering the Meadow, the wide open expanse of grass in front of him rapidly becoming one of the most familiar sights. He’s been here a few times now, wandering back and forth, begging anyone who will speak with him to consider. It’s almost empty this evening, and Arneis sighs in resignation. He’s here, though, so he might as well settle down and rest. He’s settled in, eyes slipping closed when he hears a rush of hooves, pounding on the earth startling him from that half-asleep place. There’s a mare running by, tall and lean and a strikingly pretty shade of dark bay.

Arneis tracks her progress closely, more interested to see if someone is chasing her and when she comes to a stop across the meadow from him with no one close on her heels, Arneis’ ears prick forward. She laughs loudly, an edge to the tone that has Arneis unsettled. It isn’t exactly a happy laugh, and he can relate to that feeling all too well. He takes a few steps forward, conscious of not drawing too close and making her uncomfortable. “Hello,” he calls out hesitantly. “Are you...running from someone?” He hopes his youth isn’t too evident in the question, perpetually embarrassed by the fact that he’s not the sort to rush into a fight or even stand up for himself, and has never had to be in a situation where force was needed. At a year old, he was a disappointment to the stallion who raised him, too gentle by half for the grizzled old beast. Arneis doesn’t think he has it in him; conflict avoidance and politely backing away from anything that looks like it may become dicey is really more his speed. He’s a little nervous that he may have finally stumbled in to a situation that he can’t retreat from, and he casts another nervous glance back the way the mare came, anxiously watching for anyone following her.