Meadow

The reunion with her father had gone well. Amaryllis had almost drowned in the wave of emotions that had almost overwhelmed her. For a few minutes she had thought that either her heart or mind would implode from the emotional weight of it all. Osmanthus had welcomed her back with endless, and unconditional, love. Of course she could not stay by his side for long, the Peak was not the place for her, and the time came for them to part ways once more. Except this time she had departed with a promise to visit again soon. And so the wayward mare was aimlessly wandering once more. The Peak, the Lagoon, the Meadow, she belonged everywhere and yet nowhere at the the same time.

The rush of warmth she had felt from visiting her kin had subsided within a matter of days. Her mood had crashed and once again she felt little to nothing. Perhaps that is why she constantly threw herself into those sparring battles; it was a chance to fill the hollowness inside with something. So far she had been rather successful in her fights. She wasn’t sure of her victories were due to her muscle mass or some fighting spirit inherited from her parents. Winning didn’t provide her with a sense of self satisfaction but it did provide her a reason to live rather than just exist.

Aimlessly she strolled across the flat plane of the meadow. It was early morning though you could barely see the rays of sun shining through the thick gray clouds above. It had been raining endlessly for days now and the painted mare’s damp skin had grown numb to the feeling of rain running down her back. The only time she felt something was when the wind picked up enough to briefly remove her long sodden mane from her neck and shoulders. She had to shut her eyes whenever that happened to prevent them from being stung by the crisp air. Trudging and squelching through the mud she was unaware of the danger she was walking into. Suddenly one of her large front hooves slips upon the slick surface. She loses her balance and quickly falls towards the ground. “Fu-!” Her cry is cut short as her chest collides with the waterlogged earth with a loud splash. After the initial shock of the fall has worn off she takes a moment to assess her situation. Looking down with her hazel coloured eyes she could barely tell where her mud covered legs ended and where the muddy puddle began. In fact it was more like a swamp than a puddle, and her large frame had sunk into the earth by a few inches.

With a determined snort from flared nostrils she tried to get up. She could feel the mud sucking and pulling at her stomach and legs. The water was weighing her down and the earth was refusing to let her go. She struggled to find anything to grip on with her hooves. She shifted and rolled from one side to the other. Again and again she tried to get herself out of this mess. Nothing was working. Her flailing was only resulting in a bigger indent that was quickly becoming a deeper puddle.