but i was not blind;

The mare – her stranger – moves so smoothly, so confidently that it looks like second nature. She is a whirl of burnished gold and white, and Claret has never seen a mare fight like this before. She can’t even fathom slotting herself into a fight between two grown stallions without any hesitation. She struggles to imagine her mother doing so either, as formidable as she is.

Her feet connect. Not Claret’s – her pathetic kick had missed, and her father hadn’t been successful either, but the mystery mare, her feet connect. The painted stallion stumbles, leg giving out where he’s struck.

He whirls, and Claret’s heart leaps to her throat – her father is old, now, and he’d never quite recovered, after his past injury. Sometimes Claret wonders if he only holds the Prairie still because he had surrounded himself with young, healthy allies - between Micah and Lir and her own brother Castillon. He won’t give up, of course - she hasn’t said a word to him in months and still he came to her aid. But Claret isn’t only afraid for herself - her father is still in the fray, and now the younger stallion is lunging for him. But he doesn’t have a chance because her stranger is there, slotting into place and putting him on the defensive again. She hardly even looks out of breath.

He runs, finally, and whatever he threatens as a parting shot is lost in the blood rushing through her ears, the relief so strong she sways where she stands for a moment. God, how embarrassing would it be to faint now once the danger has passed?

Claret meets the other mares eyes and stares at her, mouth open in shock for a moment as she tries to gather her thoughts. She can’t help but quickly glance away, failing at covertly checking her savior over for injuries. She looks fine – like he hadn’t even managed to get a shot in. “I...” she starts breathlessly, before trailing off.

How is she here?

“I didn’t – I didn’t ever think I would see you again.” Claret wants to touch her, to reach out and ensure that this isn’t some grand hallucination. That she hasn’t conflated this mare who came to her rescue with the stranger she bared her soul to and parted from (as they agreed) without even a goodbye. “I’m okay – and so is my father, thanks to you.” She does extend her muzzle then, a tentative offer of thanks.

claret