Meadow

He isn’t sure why he has come back; not in the same sense as he knew when he had left. Still, Bacardi heaves himself ashore from the salty waves as the tide helps to push him in. Only when he is fully standing upon the dry sand, water dripping from every surface of his flesh, that he finally heaves a sigh of relief. Home. It is the only explanation that he can come up with. Every tree, every bush, nearly every blade of grass looks familiar to his golden eyes as he looks into the meadow of the Crossing. It is a shame that it is all brown and tan; the lush fall colors gone as they are chased away by winter.


Letting out a nicker, the stallion doesn’t allow himself much time to rest or to remanence. Soraya and Twinge had joined him on his adventures, and somewhere along the way he had gotten separated from them. He doesn’t worry about their safety so much as he worries about finding them. They were both strong, and he was confident they had made the swim just as he had. But here, where anyone could find them (heavens help the poor soul that might find Twinge), the painted stallion didn’t want the chance of anyone coming between him and his family.


With one eye cast out to the water, just in case they had not made it ashore yet, Bacardi began to walk the coast in search of tracks or any signs of either (hopefully both) mares.

mutt. bay tobiano. fourteen three hands. of no where.

"...speech"