In a world without light, the sea was raucous. When Hasan had been full-sighted, he was no stranger to its noise and sensory overwhelm; he had travelled between islands regularly, the hiss and roar a familiar lullaby. Now, it was rare that his hooves took him the sea's way. If the memory of his last watery excursion did not keep him away, it was everything else: the salt sharp in his nostrils; the cacophony of the waves and wind crashing in his ears. There was room for nothing else. And with his vision already reduced to little more a grey mist, he felt not only blind, but deaf and dumb, too, like prey waiting to be taken.

Yet there were occasions like this morning when something about the beach called to Hasan. Though he was less a recluse than he had been, he still spent the majority of his time within the shelter of the trees, where he was out of sight and could easily hear any who approached. But at times this refuge became smothering—a reminder of everything he'd lost—and a brief excursion to the beach offered a mental reset: even better if the water was cold, as it was this time of year.

That was the case this morning, as the chattering song of a wren roused Hasan from his drowsing. At some point in the night he'd woken in his bed of dry leaves, a fine sheet of sweat on his black-and-white coat and the already-forgotten remnants of his dream making his heart thunder. He'd been awake for hours since then, his lids fluttering closed but never staying there. His legs ached with restlessness. The sea called his name.

Hasan slipped out his thicket, hooves gently crunching in the leaf litter. As he trekked through the thinning foliage, a scent hit him, and not that of the sea. It was faint but distinctive, the newness of it tantalizing as he paused in the shadows, breathing it in.

Then came the voice, a stone's throw away and sharp with impatience. The Forest did not often see visitors. What was this strange mare doing here?

Hasan hesitated at the edge of the trees, then stepped out into the open, pointing his ears in hopefully the right direction. A shaft of weak morning sunlight hit his side, which would have been a pleasant respite from the early morning chill were it not the wind from the shoreline rushing in to meet him. At least he was not quite so near to the water here that all his senses were drowned out. He could hear the mare; he could smell her—there was just all the usual awkwardness of communicating with and being perceived by someone he could not see. He liked it even less when it was someone new: someone who still had to have that 'oh' moment.

"You wanted me," he said, his voice gruff with fatigue, "you have me."

The implication being: Now send me away again.