I slog silent miles through that barren landscape, floating beneath the shrouded sun much like the ghostly tendrils that skim my neck. I’d convinced myself many miles and hours back that these frozen mounds are somehow familiar; but the secret truth was, there is no way I could have known. Not when almost two years of violent weather had altered their shape and texture. Two years. A callous smile creases the corner of my face as if the admission is humorous; two years. Two lonely, fruitless little years. Thankfully there was nobody around to enjoy my senseless, soundless giggling. This mind scatters like the snow on breast of these foothills. I feel aloof and disjointed. Perhaps it was a result of being travel weary to the point of incoherent; or perhaps I’m too dead on the inside to care. I no longer feel the near constant wind that snaps my body like a lash, or the dusting of white powder that clings to every exposed hair. The over-bright terrain of endless white gives nothing to break the dull strain which tugs me beneath the foamy ocean of depression.

My mind wanders aimlessly, spacing out enough to forget to avoid the topics that give me pain. For years I’ve searched for a ghost whose trail had run cold early on – at any point I could have turned around and come back. But I hadn’t. Call it bull headed, stubborn…stupid…I’d flat out refused to give up. For what? Sore feet and a trodden mind? Sure there had been points of ecstasy…a high…I’d seen distant lands that once stirred me with glee. An adolescent on the cusp of womanhood had left Helovia –returning as a sour adult seems a fitting punishment. Corroded memories slide over me; dim faces bring no warmth considering I’d never spent time getting to know them. When at last I’d walked north as far as the chilling ocean would allow, my steps turn west…and by then the sun has begun to sink.

Kitty doesn't wait long. He's going to keep moving, because a stallion as important as he does not stand idle for the masses. He takes delicate steps forward and his legs--long and graceful--cut through the warmth until the sky goes black and the air stings cold. Everything is unfamiliar to you but he moves through this new world as if it is his by some divine right, or at least as if he's seen it before in some dream. You long to sink your fingers into that realm of his innermost knowing, to see the things he sees when the night comes, but you simply aren't made of the right stuff. Compared to Kitty, no one is.

If he weren't so damnably charming, so devastatingly perfect, you might suspect he wandered the wrong way. Here in the North Birdsong's beauty fades into bitterness and the cold is as uninviting as Kitty's red stare in the face of complication. But he doesn't have that look now, doesn't seem perturbed in the slightest. No, Kitty seems confident to the point where it's contagious, and you find yourself nodding your head slowly as you watch him press hooves into ice. He's moving through that pale and unloving wind at a pace first slow and then consciously quickened. He sees something you don't see. Isn't that always the way?

But after a moment or two you catch sight of what he already knew: a mare, deep purple and trailed by the blue offspring of fire. Does he know her name already? Has he met her before, in some past life, and failed to mention her to you? He picks up speed again until he's cantering, his silken mane flying behind him as he arcs against the wind. From far away, you watch his dorsal stripe and the line of hoofprints that he etches in the snow and note the half-moon shape of his approach. From farther you hear his voice, loud despite the distance: "Good evening, night stranger."

A golden horizon fades into a pale shade of coal as another icy blast of wind races across the countryside and stirs a great calamity into motion. Like a frosty sea, foaming at the mouth. That blank canvas of endless nothingness had long since become an eyesore to me. An emptiness that seems fitting for my delirious mood -- yet it also makes me quake with solid vulnerability. I can't help but cower in the face of isolation. What a cruel world, with cruel people. Here on these battered mounds there is no shelter I can find comfort within, or warm delights for my cold belly. This was a hard, empty place; full of lost dreams. Intelligent souls would argue that foreigners of reasonable sanity shouldn't have a reason to venture into this unforgiving land.

Sanity is obviously lost to me.

I mindlessly swallow a soundless groan and suck another lungful of that thin air;  all the while stubbornly following a footpath of my own demise. These cool heels rise and fall...rise and fall... their endless, melancholy rhythm is nothing but flawless. As if there was some real purpose to my wandering. Behind me, the undertow of ash is whisked by a near constant current -- the biting breeze erases any mark of my presence upon the ground. I'm like a true ghost. Only made flesh by a body that moans it's resentment. Even with hard muscles that have grown accustomed to travel...the core is sick of only existing.

Walking.

I'm lonely.

But not alone...

A life of forced silence has made me an excellent listener. So even when I'm distracted by a vortex of scattered muse -- as the stranger draws near...I hear...no...sense the weight of his girth disrupting that faded row. His heavy body; larger than mine even in it's prime. The threads along my thighs stiffen uncertainty, and both ears slice back warily against the roof of my head. They hear his drum quicken, it thunders into the earth as if a foe had come racing from behind. I twist right to look back, quivering with anticipation of his approach or the threat that may follow. As he comes into view, boldly stamping his mark into the earth - I freeze in place, though the taunting smoke around my neck and rump still dances and twirls at random.

...just a man...

My physical self turns into him, even while I’m combating the sudden urge to jerk away. He wouldn't offer me a quick escape…instead the male spoke. To me. When was the last time I sampled a warm word? My jaw loosens as if to form a reply, but of course nothing can come forth except the smog within me. Eyelids slide shut, they flutter open a heartbeat later with glinting resolve. Beneath hooded eyes I wittingly attempt to reach for his mind, fusing my conscious ideals and words with him. Dual gems flicker across his brow, sinking to the darkened pools below – this man is the polar opposite of me. He radiates health and confidence; whereas mine is lean and poorly maintained on both fronts.

"Same to you," an attempt at warmth, but my tone simply lacks any real attachment or vibrancy. The raw stew of negativity and pain seeps over the brim, possibly dunking him in all its glorious disjointedness. The corners of my temple pinches together as I struggle to control myself. It has been so long since I'd spoke. "In a hurry to somewhere important?" The question is soft and nonthreatening, melting like the snow on our bodies. I pull away, saving my energy for reattachment rather than struggle to maintain the connection.