It was my sense of responsibility that likely crippled me. For too long, I had been trapped under the thumb of leadership, playing the role that all of the herd expected of me. I did not fear responsibility, nor did I regret my decision to protect each individual in this herd with my life, but sometimes the wind which gently touched my face was a painful reminder that I am not free. Freedom was granted to those with no ties to such things as herds. Freedom was granted to the citizens of my herd, and the price for such a novelty was throwing myself in the cage that had become my life. Live to protect others. Breathe to protect others.

That is my responsibility.

Walking from the meeting my head is held high, but as soon as the cavernous tunnels of the sandstone waves is behind me, the echoes of chatter from those I protect dying off into nothing but white noise, I let out a heavy sigh. My crown falls, sluggishly from my head as I lower my gaze to the red rocks of my home, the afternoon sun slipping below the horizon and painting everything in the day's fresh blood of crimson as it dies, transitioning into night. Stars began to pull over, the dark purple hues opposite to the burning sun mimicking the dark blue tones of my own eyes. It seemed like a sorrowful goodbye.

I had chosen the golden boy to lead beside me, and while he accepted it with a smile, feeling pride fill his chest, soon he would learn the cage to which I have assigned him. I would laugh bitterly like a villain if tears might not threaten to fall from my face and onto the cooling winter floor. I am tired, so very tired, but the beaming faces which surrounded me were a reminder to keep pushing myself. This was worth it. Everything I had sacrificed for them was worth it. Even the kindhearted, pale face of my daughter reminded me that my position as head of the herd was right. Even if I was not the carefree mare that I had once known years before when I stepped into the land of Isilme, I am following what my heart feels is the correct path for me.

A whistle of wind at my forelock, though, lets me know that the temptation of freedom would loom ever present. If only I could fly away from this place and not return; if only that action meant to set me free would not also kill me from the inside out. If only.
""