It was only at the behest of Rak that Esi left the Edge, especially after the last, terrifying experience at the ocean. Even the water—what she usually relied on the cleanse her of the filth that threatened to blot her out—left a scum of salt on her dark grey coat. But brother-calf insisted; he said there was family and good things in the south. Father (a deep voice and blurry, flaming form to the filly) had taught him to fly. Or, at least, had begun to teach him to fly.

But the moment their small hooves met sand, her body revolted. Downy feathers stood on end and clay welled in grey clumps along her back. Not again. She did not ever wish to be coated with this gritty, white substance for as long as she lived.

But Rak had pleaded, cajoled, and otherwise comforted her (as only he could do). And so the calf twins somehow made it across the sands, only to stall on the shore across from the Riptide Isles. For, even if the filly was willing to enter into the ocean once again (which she was not), the distance was too far for herself to make. Rak, the stouter and larger and stronger twin might be able to. But not the slender, small, delicate Esi.

So it was almost with relief that the calf bleated and began to turn back towards home—only to be interrupted by groaning, creaking, and splashing. Her head slowly spun, pale eyes wide as rocks, bone, and other sea refuse rose from the depths and created a bridge over the strait.

Tentatively, and mostly because of her brother’s curious insistence, her tiny hooves began to patter across the strange, dripping bridge. Warily she eyed the hodgepodge of items she stepped on—paying particularly close attention to the wads of seaweed and bones. Though, by staying close on brother-calf’s heels, she was able to make it across.

And there were so many equines gathered around a creature—who also was a hodgepodge of things, just like his bridge. He pale, pale eyes watched him closely, suspiciously. There was something (perhaps the lack of symmetry her mind so desperately strived for) about him that her foalish instincts just did not trust. “What you think, Rak?” Her voice trembled slightly as she quietly asked him.

But then her gaze wandered, drawn by the sun’s glint on metal. Except the metal was uneven, rugged, and growing from a colt’s withers. Immediately, instinctively, her body started moving towards the bay colt with titanium on his withers. She needed to clean it off, to smooth the uneven surfaces of the metal. She was careful in the sand; it would not do to get it all over her body again.

But then, with her small, white-marked muzzle outstretched towards him, she froze—realizing that this was not someone she knew. So biting off metal from his shoulder was, perhaps, not the wisest choice.

She nickered softly to the colt, eyes darting from the strange newcomer to the metal she so badly needed wanted to clean. And she waited.

dust to the wind