Meadow

It is not with a gentle touch that the sea water spits the little mare upon the shore. The waves crash against the sand and as they recede, her battered body is left sprawled upon land. Coughing and sputtering, Azalea struggles for air and to stand. Her legs are wobbly, much like a new born foals. But just like the freshly made life, the brown girl manages to rise and staggering her way inland before another wave can snatch her away from the last chances of life. When she had flung herself into the water’s embrace, she hadn’t known how close to death she would get. Experience had certainly lent her that knowledge.


When she had went far enough that the dead brown grasses of winter brushed against her legs, Azalea nearly collapsed. Her water-logged body gave an awkward thump onto the ground, her long shaggy coat and fuzzy mane streaming with water she hadn’t bothered to shake off, soaking into the frozen ground. Greedily, she began snagging at mouthfuls of grass. Her stomach clenched with both hunger and salt water she had accidentally swallowed. The brown mare did little to pay attention to her surroundings until she had managed to ease some of the cramps in her stomach.


Raising her small square head, she peered around at the foreign land. Now that she was paying attention, Azalea realized this place was overflowing with equine scents. Her heart fluttered in her chest; both excitement and nerves warring over how she would feel about meeting these strangers. But, not actually seeing one, Azalea let out a soft sigh and returned to eating the grass she could reach around her while her tired legs rested.


AZALEA