it’s in the stars
it’s been written in the scars on our hearts
we’re not broken just bent

A feathering of overly sensitive black whiskers brushed past the rough cold face of a wall; there were three and one misshapen half, each chiselled by prehistoric waterways long ago. Thin black lips at the tapering end of his lean, dull brown face then pressed closely against the unyielding surface; they quivered, filled with potent sensation and traced an invisible line downwards until the whiskers found another wall, also icy when his lips pursed to touch it. He could not run his lips along this one however without bending his weak knobbly knees, to crouch- it was the floor of his cave.

It had been some time since his days left at liberty to roam blind through the vast labyrinth of trees marking the Threshold. He could tell neither day, nor night, but in his bruised memory that world was much less reality now, and more a hazy delusion haunting restless sleep. Since following Mauja on the long arduous journey from the intimidating, yet proverbial forest, the foal had changed little. A sickening gauntness still haunted his unloved, malnourished frame and the sour, though lush grass he picked at with limited interest around the jagged fissure opening his cave, provided little energy- certainly it was not sufficient enough to fuel the growth of one so young.

Druid had spent much of his time hidden away through the crevice which barely even he could squirm between, but it was protection and it was cosy; hidden against the granite rock ledge above the bubbling hot springs. There was little choice as to whether he actually wanted to stay or not. Mauja had led him such a distance that his legs had trembled with exhaustion, and he had collapsed into perhaps the deepest and longest slumber he could remember. There was little chance of return, even he knew. He remembered Delinne, but she was alien in his upturned life, like the strange, softly spoken stallion and the other mare- Leyra. The foal seldom found comfort in their company, and so chose this reclusive way to pass his days.

Despite his preference to loiter within the humidity by the hot-springs- that near vicinity being his natural comfort zone, Druid did suffer the twinge of loneliness in his young heart. Often horses would pass through the warmer area, paying the little ugly horse no interest when he gambled closer- he was not one of them, nor was his worth anything grand. This day, guided by the careful shuffle of his tiny round hooves, the small appaloosa slipped from his hideout and began a very slow amble across the rock platform which jutted above a hot shallow pool. He searched a long time for a path down, instinctively bluffing steps to determine the security of his footing, and apprehensive relief surged through his scrawny body when at last the supple cushion of grassed loam began to descend out from the cloud of steam he had become so accustomed to.

Even beneath his hooves, Druid could feel a sudden coldness and his nerves scrambled to make sense of the strange sensation bombarding him. He continued still further down the hillock and the grass began to slush, his hooves to slice and sink, and unease crept like the plague into his confused mind. The flinch of his hide betrayed a boiling desire to escape whatever unreliable plane he had stumbled upon, and his white unseeing eyes widened unhappily as they searched through the darkness. So he stood there, unable to move for fear of slipping, miserable while the cold Basin air began to sink as a penetrating blanket across his bony hips, fingering the ridges of his spine and he shivered with unrelenting regret.


"Thinking. Speaking. Acting."