A cool breeze flickered in, one I would have considered a warning of an impending storm had I not the ability now to peer up at the sky and see its vibrant hues of blues and yellows splashed across it as if it were an easel for the painter's conscientious hand. It offered a sense of peace for me as I continued to stretch out and run across the land that we were patrolling. And, as it seemed we were reaching the end of the herd land he slowed down to a trot, and then a walk. I closed my eyes, feeling the vibrations around me so that I came to a simplistic halt, only kicking up a minimal amount of dirt in the process. It was only once I had my feet planted that I allowed my creme, pupil-less orbs to open again.

His baritone voice reached my audits as they flicked around, twitching as they strained to cling to the smooth notes that I was becoming so familiar with. Apparently the patrol was over, and while my frame was fairly happy with that - since I could feel the beads of sweat beginning to form - I couldn't help but to feel a little tinge of sadness, thinking that might mean that I would not get to spend more time out in the open with him. One gentle nod of my head and I am following after him as he begins to fade away from the border line and situate himself deeper into the heart of the foothills. A light tilt of his head and a shift in his weight to head in that direction as he started to walk. I was careful, making sure to plant my weight into the ground before pushing off after him. Only a few steps at the walk and then both of us have broken into a canter. My pace staying consistent, his changing depending upon his mood and whether or not he desired to be next to me at the time. And, when he was beside me he would nip at my shoulder as if he were begging me to play, or he would give a light tug to my mane. Then, he would speed back up again, trying to get to whatever destination he had in mind to rest at.

It was only a few minutes until I could hear the pounding of the waterfall, even the vibrations of it as they rang through my muscles with each stride. I was slowing down before him, though. For, while I could see where the water met the land it was difficult to feel such a clear line with it rumbling deep into my chest. I stopped, at least ten paces behind him only to see him start to move towards a bed of clovers. Within seconds he was lowered against the ground and beginning to roll, scratching his back against the greenery and grunting with joy (or so it seemed).

He lay there, on his side, once his scratching was done. His nostrils were flared and his eyes shut. It was that image which sent memories looming back into my skull with a new desire to break me until I couldn't be broken anymore.

Rain. Tons of it. A downpour, working hard to drench me and drown out what was left of my senses. A perfect storm, since I had accidentally stumbled across a waterfall in my travels. I had yet to go this far South in my lands, for I had always tried to stay the farthest away from the civilizations as possible. But, I had felt almost no life here earlier, so I had assumed I would be fine. That was, apparently, a lie - and a very large lie.

It was the day that I had met Scathashoun, the friesian who was at least four hands taller than I and much more built to overpower such a tiny frame. He feigned as though he cared, as I stood in a cave trembling in fear. I had been begging my senses to return for the past hour, maybe four, yet none of them had come back. The world was one huge blob, and at this point it was almost a miracle that I knew which side was up and which way was down. He said that he would guide me to safety. That was another lie from his mouth, though I will say that he 'nursed' me back to health (if one could really call it that).

He took me back towards the forest, away from the waterfall and finally I could make some sense of the land that I was standing on. Of course, with each flash of lightning and clap of thunder the world around me seemed to disappear for a few seconds as my heart leaped out of my chest. I could still hear the roar of the waterfall, and the rage that it seemed to carry, not too far off. It should have served as a warning for me, but it seemed as though things such as that were not the case. For, when I clung to his side to steady my frame as I lost my footing he seemed to snap out. His frame kicking at a tree in anger, telling me to get my own footing. And that tree didn't last long, for lightning struck it at the same time. With the force of his kick and the lightning the tree is tumbling down, and he is moving out of the way, not bothering to tell me from where the tree is coming.

It falls, and it crashes onto me, straight into the middle of my back. The fire that had started is drenched by the rain but I am crying and in pain. It will not stop, and it feels as though my back might just snap in two.

Of course, not all of the world was against me. It seemed that two members of my lands were coming by at the same time, having heard stories of the beauty of the north and wanting to see if the blinded mare was real. Whether or not they had come to taunt me or not was another story, but as I cry out for Scathashoun's help it is those two who aid along with the friesian.

Thirty minutes? An hour? No. Closer to two. It is two hours later that the tree is finally off of my back, off of me as it bored down on me. But I could feel the pain, and I couldn't stand. My hawk was circling my head, squawking at and trying to attack those who got near me or tried to touch me.

I will say now, looking back on it, that it was my hawk who had saved my life - not Scathashoun, not those two others who had stumbled across me. It was my hawk alone.

And now he was gone...

There were tears, silent tears, pooling down my face as I stood there. I suddenly felt as if I were soaking, and my back felt like it could be snapped at any moment. I felt weak. I felt vulnerable. I attempted to snap out of it, but I couldn't stop it - not with the roaring of the waterfall, not when he looked dead beside it.

The tears came stronger, and I am moving toward his side, trying to shove my nose under his barrel and shove him into the water. I'm not seeing Alleo. I'm not seeing anything except the massive friesian who had raped me, broken my back, and left me.

It is at the last second, after wiping my tears against my side that I feel the difference in build and actually take note of them. And, it is then, when I think he's going to be shoved into the water (though one could not be sure with my depth perception at the moment) that I snatch out for his mane, trying to hold on to keep his head from going underwater. What am I doing?! I can't drown him! Shit. Shit. Shit. And the tears are coming harder, and once I'm certain he is fine on his own I'm stumbling backwards, hind legs giving out as I fall into the patch of clovers, tears streaming across my face.

I'm stumbling back onto my feet, shaking my head, trying to force the sound from my cranium. But it won't go away and I can't concentrate. I want to scream I'm sorry, beg for forgiveness, explain that I honestly hadn't seen him when I had started to push him toward the water's edge. There's just one problem. I can't speak. So I'm turning tail, and I'm running, my hooves carrying me until I can no longer hear or feel the roar of the waterfall and I am near a tree to attempt to offer myself some protection.

Except the tree's protection is different. It's protection from myself. From the hatred burning in my soul of how everything was my fault. And I'm kicking out at it, trying to feel the pain in my back again. Trying to agitate an old wound that (while healed from a friend) could still cause issues in the winter. My hooves are pounding with a strength I didn't know, and I can feel the vibrations ripple through my bones.

And I continue. I continue until my limbs are aching and the tears have dried themselves. Nothing could stop me, nothing even if they wanted to. Then I have fallen to my knees, burying my head in my forelegs, chest heaving from exertion. The pain tingling in my back, right around the plethora of scars from the scraps of the bark.

Alleo will hate me. But can I really blame him?