Young colt felt the brush of a near stranger's mane against his face, heard her urging him to take hold of her when he had never before taken hold of anyone. Trust was a foreign concept, one he held only between himself and his companion, and without an understanding of its depth. To take part in it so readily now was unfamiliar, and he was left with a sense of heavy hesitation.

But the thirst compelled him. His dried and cracked lips parted to take hold of what had become his salvation, and he took his first steps guided by another towards the pitch that was the oasis. He listened only as she spoke; he gave her no answer. She reassured him of the presence of his companion, but until she was beside him he could not rest.

She explained the water to him, mentioned its smell. Strange that he had never smelled it before, he thought. It rushed past, leaving spray across his twitching skin, filling in the gaps between the hairs of his thickening coat. He had lost the covering of a foal, yet regained it in the face of Frostfall. Frostfall- until then he had to live like this. It seemed impossible now that blindness overtook him. How foolish he had been to agree so readily to the task given to him by the gods.

He had heard once that his father had been blind. He remembered his first thought upon hearing of his father's condition: What sort of Sentinel couldn't see? To guard in darkness, to live in it; how could one grow powerful then? It was why he had journeyed to the gods for his magic in the first place- to learn how to live without sight as his father once had. He longed to learn from his father- longed to see him one day.

But now in the darkness he saw nothing. Perhaps it had been a foolish hope to think that the dead lived behind the eyes of the blind. Forlorn, his ears twitching madly to keep him grounded in sound, he bent to the surface of the water. It splattered his features, colder than he had ever expected it could be. Why had he never thought of water as so cold before? It had been sustenance he had taken for granted- but as he drank it now, let it sink into his senses and fill his form with strength, he could not understand how he ever would have thought it unimportant.

He felt Manhattan beside him breathing and bending to drink, and reassurance swept over him as he understood at once that his only love in this world was safe. He did not turn to face the mare now- he had long since dropped her mane and could no longer locate her. But into the darkness he parted dripping lips and spoke his gratitude.

"Thank you," came the simple words. Renewed now, he remembered her questions. Who was he- where was he from? Good questions. He was the son of the noble Sentinel and the wicked black widow, from blood and mental drills, from spoken commands and a twisted sense of family. He longed for something different now, an escape from all that cruelty that he was bred to believe was love. But without that, was he really anything?

"I am Knox," the colt murmured, his voice low, his head beginning to ache. "I... I am from nowhere. Not anymore."

The words felt strange on his tongue.

[[Sorry for the wait!]]