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Chasing Hope

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

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"I don't want to hope."

The drum of hoof beats on packed sand, just the right amount of give, rang across the beach, dull and grey in the herald of the morning. The worm's head loomed across the estuary, a dark figure cut out against the threatening clouds, promising only more rain by the hour. Rolling stormy white crests towards the shore, the ocean grumbled and threw up a spray in protest, although nothing changed. Murky water would never have much of an influence, except only in concealing what did not want to be seen.

For all its dreariness, it was unusual to find the beach so deserted and it would no doubt brighten again after a heavy rainfall, sun breaking gloriously through the clouds as if to cheer its own return. Yet the only splash of colour on the monotonous stretch of sand, water stretching away to the right, was two horses, one chestnut and one soft grey, dressed in a hunter's clip.

Black mane lifting from her neck as she galloped, the grey mare pricked up her ears, racing on to a call that only she could hear. Her companion grunted and heaved through the sand, panting as unfitness caught up with her, nipping at her heels. To a distant observer, they may as well have been the ceffyl-dwr, the water horses of legend. But if there were any dog walkers meandering the dunes that morning, they stayed well away from the flighty pair, taking pride and strength in the physical form of their bodies.

Snorting, the red mare tossed her head, eyes rimmed with a wild edge of white.

"Didn't you hear me?"

"Oh, I heard you," the grey mare replied, sand flecking her belly. "I simply did not think you were looking for a reply."

A seagull cried out above and she reared her fiery head back, ears flicking to catch the sound and dismiss it a moment later as nothing dangerous. Threats came and went in the life of a horse, or even the day of a horse, but it was how one reacted to them that really made a horse.

Or broke them. One of the two.

"And why would I not be?" She snorted in return, nostrils vibrating as she blew. "If I speak, there's always going to be something behind it."

"It was not a thought worthy of an answer. You should have known that already."

There was a lot to be said for old, grey mares, even though the years surely were not so much between them. Heaving for breath as their headlong gallop slowed to a forward going canter, still ground covering enough for their liking, the chestnut equine tossed her head, sweat lathering her neck. She had not known it was possible to feel so young and yet so old simultaneously until, well... Until everything had happened. Too much had happened.

Lowering her head, she groaned at the sand, only lifting it again when grains, flung up by her pounding hooves, flew into her eyes.

"You're a mystery. Must mares talk in riddles?"

She seemed to laugh, tossing her head up high with a flick of her heels, life thrumming through very, vibrant inch of her body. There was nothing more the grey mare could possibly have done to further demonstrate her joy as the wind whipped her tail back, a streaming banner to herald her passing.

And the red mare knew she was not going to receive an answer, but that was okay. It was the way of it between them, after all, and sometimes the answers one sought were better found in the unfurling of a gait on a long stretch of sand. Grunting, she called on an additional store of energy, pulling ahead of the grey mare as her hooves drummed the packed down sand, only a trail of hoof prints living to tell of their passing.

Relishing the challenge, the grey mare nickered and drew level, neck straining for the advantage, that extra inch of length that would command her the victor. But racing for fun had no limit and, as much as they fought and bickered - all good-natured, of course, for it was not in either of their natures to be at odds with one another. Sweat darkened a line down the muscle in the grey mare's neck, but it was only when her wind heaved, dark patches of sweat between her hind legs, that she conceded her breath and, at last, slowed.

The mares walked side by side, flanks heaving as they sought lost breath. But, as tired as their bodies temporarily were, their eyes gleamed with life as they sucked in greedy breaths of salty, sea air.

Softer sand, lighter in colour, gave beneath their hooves as they moved on, eyeing up the dunes with only a slight roll of the eyes and all the monsters the long, waving grasses could have contained. Quietly, they paused, pawing at the sand to fling up the fine grains in play, snorting and shaking their heads at what was uncovered. Cockle shells cracked beneath their hooves and the grey mare flicked her tail, half-catching the chestnut's flank. Although she flinched away, she did no more than cast her companion a typical, mare-ish look of utter disapproval before stepping daintily out of reach.

Delicately sniffing at a pile of kelp, left high and dry after the last tide, the grey horse peeled back her upper lip thoughtfully to sift through the scents, wind confusing the sounds that her sensitive ears should have picked up. But, in such an exposed location, she could not have been worried. As vulnerable as she was in the open, she could also seem any threats coming from far away and make good her escape. Sometimes what seemed to be a disadvantage could be turned to a surprising advantage: a good lesson to learn.

It was the red mare that spoke first, breaking the silence.

"So, where to now?"

"You've asked me that one already," she replied with a toss of her pulled, black mane. "We'll go as far as we can."

Staring ahead at the vast expanse of sand, the chestnut mare chewed and snorted. There seemed to be no end, even at the part of the beach curved around the dunes, far off in the distance, to dip further into the cradling arms of the estuary. A seagull cried out above, shrill and keening, and she snorted, tipping one ear in the direction of the bird. Damp sand clung to her legs and the mare dipped her muzzle, allowing the tension to slip from her proudly arched neck if but for a fleeting moment. For they had a way yet to go.

"Onward then? To where?"

If an equine had been capable of performing the motion as a human being, the grey mare would have rolled her eyes. Either way, there was no mistaking her derisive snort for anything but what it was.

"I'll not tell you again. See where the route takes you. You're never going to be obliged to keep going, but stopping where you are simply because you do not understand the path beneath your hooves does you no good at all."

The red mare considered that, mouthing the air as if to chew imaginary hay.

"So be it. I'll see where this path takes us."

"And whether we split or stay together."

The red mare sighed. That was what she'd been wondering too, and it seemed that she was not the only one with questions, for all the grey equine's quirks and eye rolls. They were not all that different, after all.

"We will see," she murmured, eyes-half-lidded. "For now, let us be on."

Nuzzling her shoulder, the grey mare's eyes shone with quiet compassion.

"We will see."

Heads up, they called life to their hooves once more and broke into a brisk trot that swiftly became a rolling canter, snorts reverberating in time with their strides. Sand clumped inside their hooves and the chestnut equine directed their path back to the firmer sand, the strip with just the right amount of give so that they weren't working overly hard without due need. There was, after all, no point in expending energy that was not required to be used.

Setting her sights on the distance, the red mare languished in her gait, stretching out into a full-bodied gallop. Her companion neighed in delight and hurled herself forward in a great, twisting buck, the joys of youth thrumming through every last fibre of her being. For she was strong and she was powerful and she was alive.

And so they ran, intent only on themselves. The casual observer would have marvelled at their grace, muscles working to power them forward, seemingly tireless in their pace. Manes lifted from their necks, fluttering and waving, but there was no denying the raw authority in their bodies, control radiating out from every single stride. Nostrils flared, they sucked in breath, eyes dark and knowing and believing.

All the mares had was each other, the moment, one breath. And, sometimes, that was all that was needed.

For now, at least.