Jane
@[Willoughby]
It was not the first time that Jane had seen the sea. Indeed, when she was younger, too young to remember, the herd had spent a bit of time near an inlet. The older horses in the herd had talked of it sometimes in the voice that comes with childhood memories and nostalgia, and Jane had naught but a hazy image of blue with which to label the sea.
To remember that it had once been considered exciting to see the sea seems like a dream. Three months, now, had she passed along paths bridging the ocean. The first glimpse had filled her with awe; crashing waves that seemed inches away from slamming her into the rocks, and now she felt like it would never leave her. Her dreams were blue-toned, her nostrils calloused by salty air. She had never been more isolated, and although that was the point it rankled inside her and made her bitter.
She didn’t deserve this. Why couldn’t she have stayed home? Jane had said those same words to her mother, promised that she would never talk to handsome young colts ever again. She would focus on her studies, be a good filly. But her family’s patience was evidently shorter than she expected, and her pleas were met with stony disappointment from her mother. Every complaint, insult and compliment received the exact same reaction: a crinkling at the corner of the eyes, a furthering of distaste.
The day that Jane had met Hardison, the mare who would escort her, she came this close to running away before realising she had literally no defences for living as a lone horse in the wild. The day after, she had stood exhausted while Queen Marla and her parents discussed her future. It was decided that she should go by the coast, where it was less likely to come across any predators or antagonistic horses. At first it had sounded like a blessing to avoid the steep mountains that provided another route, but now she would do anything to avoid it.
Hardison was no easy companion, either. She was a draft mare, greying around the eyes, with a sharp tongue that any sensible horse would fear. Most of the time she watched the surroundings sternly, with a keenness for danger that had not yet saved Jane’s life. Indeed, it had been an incredibly eventless journey.
“How long now?” Jane asked as they stepped down a ledge into the sand. Her hooves sank into the wet sand, still damp from the retreating tide. Her ear twitched back in the direction of the surf, half nervous and half apathetic.
Hardison gave a long suffering snort and drove her hooved harder into the sand, splattering a bit of wet muck onto Jane’s fetlock. “As long as it takes,” she finally said, her voice low and rasping.
“Are you even sure you know where we’re going? We may well just circle the whole continent and end up in the same place. Why not just go home, Hardy?”
Jane felt a smug little pang as Hardison’s ears pinned. “Don’t- I know these parts better than you know your own name, princess.”
“Then why don’t you know how far away we are!”
Hardison pulled up and turned her head. Her ears were flat against her head. “Because we passed the border long ago. Now it’s about getting you into safe hands.” A thrill went through Jane’s body. I am in a different place. I am somewhere new. Jane shut up after that.
A few nights passed by this beach, Hardison deciding that they would take a bit of time to recuperate. They were up on the slopes, where hardy shoots managed to split through the earth only to be eaten by the few starving creatures desperate enough to stay there. Jane joined, although a bit away from the imposing figure of her protector.
“Hardy?” The mare’s ears twitch and Jane finally sighs, “Fine, Hardison, can I go down on the shore to look at the seashells? The tide is going to be out for hours, and I imagine you’re getting tired of me.”
Hardison lifted her head. “You are a vain little thing, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely. Now, please?”
Hardison appeared to stew over it in her head. She lifted her nose into the air, taking a scent for danger. Then her muscles loosened as she said, “Fine. But don’t even touch the water. Keep in the dry.”
Jane shot a thankful smile and descended the slope to the white-grey sand. It was certainly uncomfortable to return to the strong scent of brine and salt, but there was no way Hardison would let her go further inland. “Rotten old bitch,” Jane muttered, and lowered her head to the shells that lined the strand. Most of them small and white as teeth, others the sweet pink of a blood vessel in the eye.
The sea whispered and roared at the same time, temptingly near. Blue carried from one side of her vision to the other, dark grey against the roan blue of the sky. The wind whipped around her head, threw her mane and tail behind her. The darkness of her coat against the white split up the beach around her, save for the threads of gold that were hardly gold in the fading light of dusk.
