T
he aging mare waded onto the beach, the receding waves swirling around her fetlocks and teasing the delicate feathering on her lower legs. She inhaled deeply, her pink lips trembling slightly, and lifted her hazel eyes towards the land. Free from the ocean's pull, her hooves sank softly into the damp sand. A gentle breeze stirred her white mane, playfully tickling the fine hairs on her muzzle. She hadn't crossed to this island in years, actively avoiding it; hiding within the shadows of Atlantis, the dense thickets of Luthien, or the windswept sagebrush of Salem, had lost its appeal.
The small Welara mare craved companionship for her aching loneliness, conversation for her silent thoughts, and perhaps, even the solace of a loving touch. A lifetime of solitude, compounded by cruel fate, had left her utterly alone. Her brow furrowed as she remembered the few she had loved, now impossibly distant.
She crossed the firm sand and entered the forest bathed in faint moonlight. Beneath the branches, where orange and crimson leaves still clung stubbornly, she moved quietly through the last days of autumn. The fallen leaves muffled her steps. At the edge of a clearing, she paused, her green eyes scanning the meadow for any sign of horses. Finding none, she cautiously entered the clearing, her gaze drawn to the pool of water fed by a small, roaring waterfall.
Thea paused at the water's edge, gazing at her reflection. She studied the graying hairs above her brow, the gentle lines etched into her face, the white creeping along her muzzle - time's quiet testament. A wistful smile touched her lips as she thought of Vana and Freya, hoping they wandered safely across the Isles.
With that thought, she lowered her muzzle to the pool and drank deeply. The cool water soothed her parched throat.
