Falls

It seemed, by the stallion’s answer, that Xiomara was not quite as unique as she thought herself to be. Of course, there were strong mares among the islands; she had met many in her life. But none of them claimed to be Warrior Queen. To have forged their way in such a blood thirsty and crazed way that Xiomara had done in her youth. Age, responsibility and feelings had gotten in the way of the power that the mare craved. The clash of bodies and the addicting thrill of a good battle. When was the last time she had even screamed a hot-blooded battle cry? Were the shield maidens he spoke of the same way?


“I am a mare among many.” Xiomara replied when he asked what she was. “Just a member to a herd.” Not Queen, not warrior, not even a drifter. For a moment, a cold crushing feeling threatened to swallow the blue roan mare. The life of a herd mare fulfilled many, and it was not a bad thing to be. But for her? It was nearly crippling; like a bird now locked in a cage, only to view the sky through a barred window.


Trying to push away that new reality, Xiomara focused her icy gaze on the dark stallion. “What are you?” she asked.