In my horizon gazing I notice a speck in the sky. I tilt my head ever so slightly, attention fully set now on this moving dot that seems to be drawing closer as its size increases. Before long I recognize it as a pegasus.

I wonder what it's like to fly.

Sea and foam sprinkle the surface of the ocean as the flying horse crash lands into the water. I startle at this charging forward immediately to provide aid, though I stop myself soon enough. I'd likely drown us both. I've not the frame, experience or the skill to rescue anyone, namely me, so I stand still and watch. I strain forward, my body tense as my eyes scour the water's top but the pegasus is there, alive and kicking, literally. I sigh relief, drawing back into myself and wading back to the wet shore.

As he draws closer, this stallion becomes all the more peculiar. His mane is a mess of knots and his eye seems, lumpy. His body is dirty, a grime not even the sea seems to be able to scour as he rises from it like some dingy leviathan. One land I can attest truly his oddities, for his back is humped like a camel and his legs seem not to have bones in the way they twist. One side is shorter than the other making him limp in a truly pathetic if not impossible way.

He's shorter than me, even as I am on the cusp of my adulthood, and I have to incline my head a bit downward to see him better. Some seaweed clings to his mane, and seagrass, and I think perhaps a seastar has had difficulty dispatching from his side. Most unusual.

My eyes widen.
It is not fear that gives them width, but rather concern. I cannot say what has happened to this traveler, but surely it is something terribly unfortunate. He must have been running from whatever deformed him so, explaining his water landing from pure exhaustion - not knowing flight mechanics well I do not reason that water is a softer thing to grab hold of than sand when you feet are so mangled.

Despite my best theories however, he is rather nonchalant in his greeting which only further astounds me. I would be speechless if not already I'm sure.

Perhaps he is use to being chased and mangled? Maybe these wounds are not one event but several? Is he a brave, but unlikely, warrior?

I can think of nothing to do but draw. I have so much to ask, to wonder, to tell, to say!

I whip my tail around to my said, leaving a wet smack as it hits the hard, sand here so near the water's edge. The tips bleed out the inky substance onto the ground and I craft it into a resemblance of him. I send that picture flying above us, and from the black thread keeping it in touch with my tail, a different thread sprouts and makes a variety of attacks. At first I guess pegasus, and then I try a huge dragon or even a flock of harpes! The possibilities are endless. I show him being attacked, his back lifting, his face bruising causing that strange lump. I show him flying and crash the design into the ocean.

It is a silent question, one I hope he will answer.