Young colt felt hoofbeats shaking earth at the river bank, and wondered if it was the end. Was this death coming for him, speaking his name in a bid to call him into whatever realm awaited him? But no, he pieced together the words spoken, and none of them were his name. The touch of a velvet nose and lips brushed his face. He had never been kissed before- was this a kiss? Surely the reaper did not kiss those he stole away, surely this must have been something different. He felt exhaustion sweep over him to the point where he felt unable to move, even as the strange voice urged him upwards. He was unaware of the several minutes that passed before he could bear to open his eyes to the blackness and heed her words.

On heavy limbs he rose, teetering disturbingly from side to side. Upon his features, the glow of the white bridle had dimmed only to a dull shine, making the dapples across his eyes a sight marred by darkness. Manhattan stirred beneath the hot breath of the stranger and at the departure of Knox's warmth, whining softly in a feeble attempt to protect her master. Her paws braced against the ground and she tried to stand, but hunger gripped her and she fell as if she would never again rise. He felt her leave his side and panic struck him with the same speed that his blindness had. "Manhattan," He murmured as he lowered his head to her side, nudging her to rise. "Come, little one," He begged, desperation seeping through the cracks in his voice and the melancholy tone.

He found he was entirely unaware of his surroundings in a new way. With Manhattan too weak to stand, he felt empty and cold, as if there was nothing left- and to top it all off, he could not see. He had no understanding of where he stood, where the stranger was in relation to himself- when he lifted his head to breathe in more deeply the scents of the land, he found himself unintentionally brushing the mare's neck. He took in her scent instead, but did not recognize it. He did not recognize anything, for that matter- the way the earth felt beneath him was new and strange; the young colt had never before experienced the forgiving sands that coated the dragon's throat territory. He wondered faintly if that was where he was- he could recall faint descriptions of the land, but they all seemed to fail him in that moment.

At his feet, Manhattan whined and cried. Before him, the mare told him to find water. Around him everything was black. He turned in what he thought was the direction of the mare and once more drew too close, this time bumping her cheek with his nose. He drew back quickly, apologetically, not repulsed by the touch so much as unfamiliar with its concept. He found himself stumbling and struggling to stand on legs that yearned to fold and rest, found himself turning desperately as if it would allow him to see once more. She had told him to get water, he remembered that faintly. "I-" he began, feeling nervous and upset, unable to form full thoughts aloud, "I-I'm blind."

The statement was a simple fact, but it was spoken as if a mournful cry, a burgeoning question or desire for what he lacked. He turned back to where he thought she rested, unable to truly tell in the cimmerian ink that was now his vision. He looked at her pleadingly, desperately. Lead me to the water he thought, filled with hopefulness and helplessness but unwilling to admit that he possessed either. At his feet, Manhattan whined.