†
He watches her watching him, and waits, patient as the earth itself. Her acceptance is swift. A subtle toss of her own mane precedes the sudden shift of her gait and she flashes by him like a dove on the wing. He stretches his own legs and canters after her, tossing his head up and away from the sand upflung in her wake, snorting as a wet pat occasionally catches him on the chest or cheek until finally he draws nearer, then beside.
Their wordless run eases a long-held ache, an instinctive clenching against the emotional rigors of the world. He forgets the sun-gilt past, the merry laughter still plunged like a knife in his heart, and sees only the beach: cool and cold falls the road before them, conceding to the marks of their passage only until the next tide. The wind off the waves is iodine-sharp in his nose unlike the heady fragrance of the mare with whom he gamely keeps pace— perhaps a full stride behind, built for stamina more than speed, but certainly not lagging.
There is driftwood ahead, a massive gnarled log thrown high on the beach after having been rolled smooth by the sea. He veers, puts on a burst of speed, and imagines as he leaps that his would be a mighty wingspan. It's play, pure and simple, a relinquishing of all burdens to be wholly in the now. He curves back in a wide arc, out of her potential path, to see if she, too, will make the leap.
TEMBLOR
& swallows you whole
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