Maple didn’t know how to apologize. She barely knew how to socialize. The mare didn’t know how to take back her words, or even back herself out of this situation without simply leaving without another word. She heavily considered it, but her hooves remained planted on the soft forest floor covered in leaves and pine nettles among the yellow grass he had just been grazing on.


Now that the stranger had lifted his head, even pulled into a frown, Maple could clearly see the marks upon his face and his sightless eyes. There was still some color to them; enough for her to tell they used to be golden. She wondered if they had been warm when they gazed at others? Did they glitter with mischief when he was a foal, or even as an adult? Now they did nothing more than stare past her as if she were a true ghost and that hollow feeling inside wanted to swallow her whole.


“Am I supposed to care what is easier or harder?” she asked, her tone still bristled. Inwardly she wanted to cringe and shuffle her way off somewhere he couldn’t find her again. Perhaps the bottom of the ocean? If only she could grow gills.