FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The traffic banked up coming into Sydney. I fumed silently, waiting in the endless procession of cars, as we crawled our way towards the city. I hadn't thought through things much, not at all really, and I was hitting Sydney now late in the day. I would not be able to do what I needed until tomorrow, if I was going through with it. I had made the call out of a payphone in Gundagai; they couldn't ring me to confirm, so I would just turn up and hope.

For now, I had no money, nowhere to stay, and a night to kill. In the mood I was in, that was a dangerous combination anyway, but there were no alternatives.

As we inched our way into Liverpool, with the endless honk of car horns and the steady hum of engines, I made up my mind. Up ahead was the turn off to the M5, and it was as good an idea as any. I didn't have an e tag, and I was going to get the mother of all toll evasion fines, but I couldn't give a shit. There would be nobody left to collect from anyway.

At least the traffic was a little less fucked, though for a toll road, it was anything but easy. I wound down my window, feeling the heat and humidity hit me like a hammer. Sydney always felt like a different world to Melbourne. Only a thousand kilometres away, but it might as well be a different country. I could feel a thunderstorm in my mane, the tension and static making the hairs stand on end. As I drove on, I undid the bands on my mane and let it hang free, the black hairs down my back drying out the sweat. My top was already damp by the time I reached the airport.

I had been to Sydney a few times now, enough to at least know my way around. I would be coming back this way tomorrow, before the end, and until then I was near enough to places that would keep me until my task was done. Feeling my way by instinct, I joined new lines of traffic, but this time heading for the ocean. I could smell it too, the ozone from the waters matching the ozone from the incipient thunderstorm.

When I reached Coogee, it was late in the afternoon, and the sun was preparing to depart for the day. I ditched the car in a parking lot and ignored the dire warnings of the parking signs. There was ocean ahead, and I wanted to feel the water on my hooves. The heat and the sweat were still with me, and as I reached the shore, I felt the water lap at my hooves and rustle my feathering. It felt good, standing there, with a sea breeze blowing my mane.

A trio of young guys were sitting on beach towels nearby. They were arguing, loudly, about music, sport, everything and anything. They seemed completely undisturbed by life. I felt a sharp pain in my guts, and almost doubled over from it. The little group stopped, staring at the strange horse at the water's edge.

"Are you ok mate?" piped up the biggest, a bull. He reminded me of Jim a little, the big bull with a volcano inside, but this one seemed quiet, even gentle. His big brown eyes watched me warily. Some seem to know instinctively when another is in the shit. Maybe this kid was one of those. I didn't envy him that; I did envy his normal existence though. I realised I didn't know anything about him, and I was assuming all sorts of things I probably had wrong. The anger at my own stupidity made me wave him away, and I looked out into the ocean.

I was wearing a pair of khaki shorts, and a polo, nothing much, nothing really but the basics I managed to pull on before I headed out. For some reason it didn't matter anyway, the water called me like a lover. I heard the startled moo from the kid behind me, and stifled laughter from his mates as I walked calmly into the waves. They were low at first, disappointing really, then one nice big one came along and I dived under the water.

I always loved that noise, the noise of nothing. Under water, with only the slow glop, glop of water in your ears, the muffled sound of the breakers above. The world disappears for a time in the ocean, and I swam out to sea holding my breath as long as I could. My mane flowed behind me, and I thrashed my tail feeling the water push it from side to side. I could not touch the bottom; free.

Eventually the burn in my lungs forced me to the surface. I had toyed with the idea of just staying under, but you can't, or at least I thought I had read somewhere that you couldn't . Nothing quite so easy. As I flicked my head to dry off and opened my eyes, I saw the thunderstorm coming from the East. Lightning flashed against the sky, and the clouds closed in rapidly.

I looked back at the shore. The little group were packing up, all except the young bull, who eyed me with caution and a hint of worry. I waved to show him I was ok, and ducked under the water again. The nothing enfolded me, rocking me in its arms. Returning to the womb made a lot of sense somewhere like this.

The thunder echoed off the rock wall, angry and menacing. I watched the beach clear, all the sun worshippers scattering like ants, and ran a hand over my face to keep my forelock from covering my eyes. Somehow a beach so different to the one in Brighton made me feel ok for a bit, home when there really was nowhere that counted as home. I paddled around in the water, determined to ignore the rain.

A Sydney thunderstorm was a sight to behold though. I went underwater as often as I could, but the constant pounding of heavy rain became unbearable, and I reluctantly headed for shore. I must have made an incongruous sight, a lone equine trudging dripping wet from the ocean in a thunderstorm. As metaphors for my life it kind of suited though.

The concrete toilet block beckoned, and I headed for it's reassuring bulk just as the real storm hit, plastering Coogee in torrential rain and lightning strikes. Plenty of my fellow beachgoers had taken refuge, and I found the bull waiting patiently with one of his mates, throwing a rugby ball back and forward. He gave me a shake of the head and a crooked smile.

"You're game mate."

I shrugged. "Felt like a swim."

He nodded with one eyebrow raised. "Yeah...sure..."

As the rain cleared, I gave him a smile and a pat on the shoulder and headed back to my car. At least the thunderstorm had kept the Grey Ghosts away, and I was refreshingly free of parking tickets. I had made an artform of dodging the sherrif's back in Melbourne, thanks to an accumulated debt for parking fines, public transport fare evasion and sundry stupidness that threatened to make me the single biggest feature in balancing the state budget. One day they would have got me and clamped my car and that would be that, but it seemed the Gods in Sydney were kinder.

Luckily as it turned out, I had my whole life with me in the car, my trusty Nike bag with all my worldly goods. I stripped naked in the carpark, not really giving a shit, and found a towel and my best going out gear. Dark jeans, white shirt, leather hoofboots. In the foetid heat of Sydney it felt too much, but it would do for one night. I had decided on my destination for the night, my way of passing time.

The road snaked through the affluent East until I washed up on the more cosmopolitan shore of King's Cross. A more wretched hive of scum and villainy to quote from Star wars, you would be lucky to find. Here I could pass the time and round out the self destruction nicely.

With darkness falling, the Cross came alive, or something akin to alive. I wandered aimlessly at first, finding myself in the vicinity of the wall. The crowd was still there, and the familiarity hit home hard. It spoke of Clay too, the Clay who was losing it.

*****

After my disaster in Brighton, I ended up in a psych ward for a brief time. I assumed I would get kicked back to a group home or worse, but when I came out, my foster parents were there to pick me up and take me back home. I had a whole cluster of appointments with shrinks, counsellors, doctors, and social workers to look forward to, but they were sticking with me. The gap I had opened between me and Mitch would not heal, but I still had a place no matter how fucked up I was it seemed.

I tried to trust, tried to relax, but it wouldn't come. I threw all my effort into school and football, trying to make up in success what I had cost them in pain and worry. I would be a credit to their efforts, and make them feel good about what they had done. It was the only thing I could do.

Clay had done his time in the joint, then aged out. We kept in touch, and one day I ran into him on the beach, while I was punishing myself with a long jog to nowhere. He was sitting, calm as you like, on a fencepost waiting for me, and smoking a nice long joint while he did it.

"Hey pony! You look hot when you sweat."

"Clay! How...what are you doing here? How did you find..."

"Your foster bro... the young one, cute by the way. He told me where to find you...and told me he would beat me up if I did anything bad. He's protective that one."

I knew my brother's overreaching fondness of grand displays of protectiveness. It touched me more than I could say that his umbrella of protection seemed to include me.

"I wouldn't take him on Clay. He can be rough for a little guy..."

"Tell me about it! It's the smaller guys who cause me the most pain usually..."

The way he said it made me worried, but I let it pass for now. I should not have. Before I could say anything, he punched me, hard in the shoulder. I looked hurt, but he looked back even more angry if anything and that stopped me in my tracks.

"That's for trying to top yourself hoss. You cunt...you have to fucking promise me never to do that again, you hear?"

"I...hey..." another punch.

"I said, promise!"

I promised, finding a strange comfort in his forceful way. Someone cared, even if he was at least a fucked up as me.

My husky mate had never been a happy inmate of the system, and even less once he fell in with the older guys. He took to skipping out, leading his own life, and finding whatever way he could to make ends meet. As I found out, that led to some not so good places.

That weekend, Clay came for me and I agreed to follow him, wanting to make it all up to him. The guilt filled me like a bottomless pit of dark, one that could never be assuaged, but I had to try. So I followed my husky Pan on his merry dance, and found what his life was now.

He had a spot in a squat in St Kilda, a rundown broken old accommodation hotel with leaks and rising mold everywhere. It had once been a grand residence, now it was a scabrous testament to the depths that existed beside the genteel and the trendy. Clay had a corner of a room, with his things, his blanket, and his dad's bandanna still wrapped round his wrist. It was torn and frayed, but he needed it still, I was to find.

"How's your dad?" I felt I needed to ask.

He frowed, shaking his head and I instantly regretted it. "Had a fight inside, bad one, did some damage. Got his sentence extended, stupid fuck. I told him I was jack of him, sick of waiting. He can get fucked."

I knew from his eyes he didn't mean it though. Here was still a little kid who needed his dad to hold him more than anything in the world. I knew that feeling, how much it hurt. He would have to make do with me instead. I wrapped him in my body, savouring the warmth and the belonging. He rested his head on my shoulder and I stroked his ears gently like he liked the most. It was a beautiful moment, ruined a little by him reaching under his blanket for something I recognised.

"Wouldn't ahh be able to help me would you mate?"

I couldn't find the heart to say no, even as he walked to the little propane heater and waved the spoon over it's blue flame, eyes glittering with desperation I had ignored. The bandanna made an acceptable improvised tourniquet, and I held his head on my shoulder as the hit took effect and prayed with all the fervour of a confirmed atheist for God to fucking make this shit stop. God was a motherfucker though, so he had worse in store.

Once Clay came down from the immediate high, he was a new husky, more light and breezy, but also determined and I was sad to see, not about to let me off the hook.

"Ahh...look mate, don't judge ok. You have such a cushy existence, you cant fucking look down on me..."

"Clay, it's ok, really..."

"Fucking privileged pony. Fell on your hooves, and good for you. Well, it's different here..."

"Clay, I said, really its ok..."

"Good. So, I have to do some things..."

Some things turned out to involve a session around the corner. He had worked out how to live, had my husky, and if you had few other choices, St Kilda was the place for it. The street names have been the same for a long time, yuppie encroachment notwithstanding. Inkerman, Gray, Princess, Alma, Barkly. And if you were a young guy looking to sell yourself to some banker with a Mercedes and an apartment in South Yarra, the side streets off Inkerman was the place.

I begged him, but he dared me to walk out on him again. I realised he was testing me, almost begging me to leave, but I was going to stick it out, and at least watch over him. He made his first customer almost immediately, and I watched him go in a nice silver Audi to places unknown, making note of the license plate in case of...just in case. Then his second for the night came and forced me into a decision.

The guy was rich, that much I could tell. A nice E class Merc, flash, perfect suit, expensive briefcase in the back. A neat fox with perfectly groomed fur and sparkling eyes, he stopped by Clay and me, and let the window drop with a methodical electronic whirr.

"Hello boys..."

Clay took the lead. I wanted the ground to open up.

"Hey mate. What are you looking for tonight?"

It turned out what the guy was looking for was something unusual. And for that he would pay.

"I want to watch you two fucking. Five hundred, cash for the two of you. What do you say?"

I wanted to bolt but my husky had a whispered conversation with me filled with equal parts pleading, emotional blackmail, and horniness. He reached for my sheath, and I hardened almost immediately. I had missed him so much...

"Please Danny. Please....I can get a proper place for a while, go to a hostel and get cleaned up. I can try to go straight...just this once...please...."

The drive in the back of the Mercedes was hell. I was on alert, finding the feel of the leather upholstery almost like an electric shock. My ears quivered, and my mane wouldn't sit still. My tail slapped against the door as if it wanted to escape and was trying to persuade me to let it go if I was too stupid to take the hint. The roads went by in a blur, until we ended up somewhere I didn't recognise. The fox hit the button for his automated gate and drove straight into the garage and killed the ignition.

"Nice place mate." Clay spoke almost to fill the void it seemed. His eyes were glazed, like he wasn't even there but he was on remote control anyway. I wished I could be.

"Thank you. What's your name anyway?"

"Travis..."

"And your silent equine friend?"

"He's D...Duncan."

"Well Travis and Duncan....welcome to my abode..."

The main bedroom was enormous, with a huge king sized bed, separate robe and bathroom, and a study off to one side. There were no books at all, and I never trusted someone who didn't have books. It just seemed wrong...when I had a normal life and someone who cared for me I would have all the books I wanted and I would read them whenever I liked...

"So...shall we get started?"

My heart raced, and my stomach grumbled. Clay walked over to me, a sly grin like the caricature of eroticism on his muzzle. He wasn't looking at me, he wasn't even here, but his paws still knew how to find me, and I closed my eyes and let it happen.

He undressed me, slowly, and then went down on me immediately. I felt the heat of his muzzle engulf me, and nickered in arousal in spite of everything. I tried hard to ignore the sounds from the side of the room, the slurp slurp of a paw on cock. I couldn't ignore what my husky was doing to me though.

"Now...who's the top?"

"Duncan...you'll fuck me good, wont you Dunc?" there was pleading in his voice. I gulped and nodded.

I remembered looking over, almost by accident, once when I was deep in Clay and trying hard to find something to make this bearable. The fox was naked, smoking a cigar with a glass of brandy by his side. His bright red cock pulsed as he jacked it, and his tongue was out, drooling on the designer carpet. I tried to find the sense of triumph I did when the guys looked at me on the beach, their hunger and need sustaining me. It wouldn't come. All I felt was the need to puke.

"Harder Duncan...he looks like he needs a right hard fucking..."

I looked at Clay, and he smiled and closed his eyes. "Yeah...harder..."

When I got home, Mitch was waiting up, and he looked about to read me the riot act when he saw my eyes. Instead he held me while I shook so much my teeth chattered. Still, I had learned how much I could earn. And that was a dangerous thing for a foster kid determined not to have to rely on anyone but himself.

*****

I didn't remember how many there were over the years. Almost all women, mostly as lost and desperate as me. When I was with Leesa sometimes their faces and their bodies came back to me and their endearments and the way they stroked my mane as if they owned me and I would shy away from my bunny girl as if she had hurt me. It was me who was hurting her though, over and over and over. No more. No more.

Of course Clay had not gone straight, not gone clean, not changed a thing. He did treat me to a bang up meal at McDonalds on the corner of Acland street though, wolfing down his Big Mac as if we hadn't just fucked for the entertainment of some merchant banker from Kensington.

Here in Kings Cross I had the same vibe. A lot of the same crowd, the street names may be different, but the people are the same. The same squalor mixed with desperation.

Eventually I asked someone for directions, which seemed to throw them slightly. They pointed me in the direction of what I wanted though, and to a club off the main street I went, noticing the crowd entering with a smile. Guys, mostly pretty campy. A young big stallion should have no trouble finding a place for the night in here.

The dance floor moved like the ocean at Coogee, waves coming and going, dumping the unwary when you thought you were safe. A panther in very tight pants was dancing next to me, trying hard to bump by ass on each second beat and finding the song too fast to make that work. Instead it looked like he was having some sort of seizure, possibly due to overuse of product in his fur.

Then I spied a couple over in a booth, a big daddy bear and a younger lion with a well groomed mane. They were downing cocktails like it was the end of the world, and when I stared for a while, the bear winked and blew a kiss while the lion blushed and hid. I trotted over.

"Hello lovely horse!" the bear began.

"Gary, stop..."the lion was obviously embarrassed, and I gave him my best smile and waved away his objections.

"Hello guys. Mind if I take a seat?"

"Mind...I have a mind to kidnap you right here horse, don't get me started..."

The bear was obviously drunk, and a little silly. The lion was less so, though he had that slight buzz on and a little glazed look I thought I recognised. A little hyper, a little comfy, a little warm.

"What are we celebrating guys?" I let the bear buy me a drink, downing the vodka in a rush while the lion gasped at my alcoholic ways. I nodded for another.

"It is my beautiful kitty's birthday today. He is twenty three..."

"Oh stop Gary!"

I gave a warm round of applause, and then a birthday kiss for the lion. He purred, and I noticed the bear didn't look jealous. More nostalgic if anything...happy and sad. I got the story when I headed for a piss and the bear followed me.

"What's your name horsey."

"Danny..." and I shook hands, then realised I should have washed my hand before I took his paw. He waved it away with a chuckle.

"I'm hoping to be getting my paws on worse than that Danny...if you are willing..."

"What about your lion?" and I saw the melancholy was back.

"My beautiful kitty is a lot younger than me. And a lot more pretty..."

I tried to stop him, but he waved me away with dismissal. "And he loves horses. Always has, especially young hot studs like you Danny. You aren't from around here are you?"

"Melbourne..." he gave a deep rumbling chuckle.

"Thought so. You sound out of it, look it too. If you wanted something to do tonight...well, I'd love it, and I know Tay would too..."

They had an apartment in Darlinghurst, just a short trot away, and I helped a slightly stumbling lion back along the winding roads with his bear lover beside him singing all the way. He was singing sea shanties, with a rolling voice that seemed somehow appropriate for the old Sydney town. It drew plenty of strange looks while we walked, but none of us minded. We were, in that moment, immortal.

I undressed for the guys in the middle of their lounge room. Somehow it felt different to the fox with the Mercedes, there was something more than just sex in the room. I gave them a show, drawing a round of raucous cheers when I finally dropped my briefs, and an even more raucous one once I dropped my cock.

The bear lay beside his lion on the bed, kissing and hugging, before letting Tay lie back for me. They were kissing the whole time still, with Gary beside him, as I finally lifted the lion's legs and took in th sight of his hole. A tight little pucker, perfect and inviting. I kissed him, lavishly, then over his balls and the full length of the underside of his cock while he mewled into the bear's muzzle in pleasure, and when I finally entered him I went in so easy, like I was made for him. The love between them was written in their eyes as they kissed, and I closed my eyes to fight back memories and concentrated on my work. I didn't want to intrude, if that doesn't sound stupid. This was for them, and for once I was happy to be just a passing third.

Gary wasn't letting me off that easy though. I felt his paw on my hand, and looked up to see him grinning and looking at his groin. He was hard as a rock, leaking copiously, and I reached for him and slowly jacked while I pumped into his lion. It was a strange experience, slow, not really cresting, just one long slow glide, and when I finally came it seemed to be an age had passed and we all felt the sting go out of the night.

I ended up between them, sandwiched between the lion and the bear. Both were fast asleep, the bear snoring, the lion making cute meowling noises. I tried not to move, just enjoying the warmth and the comfort for a while. I desperately wanted to cry, needed to, but I could not. It was another one of the things I had lost.

As I lay there, my mind buzzed with the litany of losses like a curse. Somewhere, I had lost the means to have a normal life. In the service of survival, I had lost what it was to be alive. Love, hope, emotions, self worth, anything and everything had gone until I had nothing left but scar tissue and the disembodied voice in my head telling me how worthless I was. Even on that Saturday, a week ago, I hadn't been able to cry. It seemed I never would. Nothing, never, ever would be any better. In the arms of two strangers, I made my pact and gritted my muzzle.

The morning was still warm and humid. I dodged the rubbish collectors and the idiots on scooters to reclaim my beaten up car. After momentary panic I found where I had left it, now festooned with parking tickets. I laughed as I tossed them into the air and headed for the road. I had to be in Malabar in a couple of hours, and it wouldn't take me that long. I sat in the carpark instead, waiting, thinking, before I headed for the forbidding entrance.

He had agreed to see me after all.

Her Majesty's Prison Complex Long Bay. It was a suitably Dickensian mix of buildings, old and new, all of the special sort of institutional grotesque reserved for prisons. Past the forbidding entrance procedures, and noting that I could take in a maximum of ten dollars in coins for vending machines and declining same, I waited for my turn to see him. I fingered my wrist nervously.

I wanted to hate him. I wanted to blame him. I wanted to hurt. I wanted...

I had no idea what I wanted.

When he was ushered into the little booth, he didn't recognise me. I recognised him, I was surprised to see. He looked so much like Clay, down to the patch at his nose. His fur had long streaks of grey though, scars over his left eye, and those eyes were haggard and defeated. I waited for him, suddenly unable to say what I had to say.

"You look just like Clayton described."

I gave a start. "He talked about me?"

The inmate nodded. "Yeah. Often. Wouldn't shut up about you in his letters. While he still sent them that is."

I nodded, remembering. When Clay gave up, he stopped writing, hoping his dad would write back and beg forgiveness. He never did.

"Why did you stop writing to him?"

The old husky gave a sigh that seemed to come from his paws. He reached for a pack of cigarettes, lighting one with deliberate slowness and taking a drag on it.

"I thought he would be better with me out of his life. I have done...well, you know what I've done..."

"He wanted you. He needed you." It was an accusation.

"He told me not to..."

"He still needed you! He was just hoping you would write anyway, tell him he mattered, tell him...I don't know, tell him you would try to get out for him..." I was yelling now, and the corrections officers were circling.

"You failed him!" I was in full cry now, and the corrections officer was by my side. I had to calm down, I knew, but the emotion was coming too hard. I still had one job to do. Anger had got me this far, but as I looked at the husky, that left, seeing him broken and defeated already. I reaslied with a curse that the one I blamed was me. I had failed him. I had done it, and blaming this wreck was my only way out.

"Danny...I know. I have made mistakes in my life, huge ones. Having Clayton was the only thing I got right. I know I can do better, if he is still up to letting me try. I'm doing better, I will be put in minimum soon and the parole board will consider me in six months. Tell him...tell him I will try. It's all I can promise, if he is willing to forgive me."

The shaking had started, and I brought my arm up and stared. He didn't know; I had wondered if the system had done its job yet. I should have known better. The bandanna was wrapped around my wrist, and I untied it with shaking fingers while the husky watched, reaslisiation suddenly dawning.

"No..."

"He kept it for you. Wanted to give it back to you when you got out."

"No..." his head was shaking now, while mine had dropped to the tabletop.

*****

"Clay?"

I had not seen my husky for weeks. I pretended I was too busy, lost in my studies, trying to finish a degree I didn't even know what to do with. When I first met Clay, I never believed I would live to eighteen, let alone go to uni and graduate. Now it was an end in itself, mark of something, though just what I didn't know.

It was his birthday though, and I always made the effort to find him for his birthday and he made the effort to be less stoned than normal. We would go to a pub and have a normal night and pretend everything wasn't fucked.

He had moved to another squat, this time in Northcote. He was with a new group of deadbeats, mostly pot and meth, and he grumbled about finding new connections to score from. I did the best I could, buying him food, clothes, whatever though I had no money either. Jobs would not come, and I realised there was no end to the fight, no chance to rest.

The building was always dark and cold, and I had to pick my way carefully through the debris and the collapsed bodies of other denizens to find Clay's nook by the read door.

He was sitting in his place when I came in, quiet, staring at the wall. He didn't acknowledge me and I took a seat on an old beanbag by his couch, feeling it give under my weight. I gave his cheek a kiss, the fur strange, and he still didn't react.

And he was cold. So very cold.

"Clay?"

He was still staring, wide, and I realised the needle was still beside him, and the spoon, and the bandanna was still tied to his arm. Not a sound came.

"Clay?"

The realisation was slow in coming. I did not want to believe. I called the ambulance, and they came though they knew it was no good. He was too long gone, nothing would wake my husky from this slumber.

All the time I waited for them I held him and spoke to him. I told him he would be ok, and how much I needed him, how much holding like this kept me going all those years. How much better I would look after him after this if he only held on. There was no one to hold on any more though. He had long since slipped through my fingers.

He had the letters he had written to his dad in his things, ones he had never sent, and a piece of my mane I had cut for him and tied round his other wrist. And still I could not cry.

*****

The husky before me was not dead, but he seemed to wish he was. He had his head in his paws shaking, and I could only watch, holding the bandanna in my hands. I reached into my pocket and brought out a sheaf of papers. The letters Clay had never sent. At least he would get them now.

"I'm sorry..."

"Don't be mate. I am the one who failed..." the husky started to speak, low and lost.

"No...I failed him. I came here...I came here to hate you because I hate myself. I could have saved him, should have...he needed me, and I wasn't there either..."

The husky shook his head. "Mate, the way he wrote about you. You meant more to him than anyone. You did plenty..."

"No..."

I dropped the papers, and the worn cloth on the tabletop. A flurry of corrections officers had descended now, realising something was up. I had to go, that much I knew. One last lap to run.

I managed to get to my car and threw up on the gravel before getting in. It wasn't far I knew, and I sped along the streets, winding along the intricate path further and further out into a finger of land. The carpark was not crowded. I pulled my bag from the back and headed for the fence.

South Head...the ocean beckoned again, and it was time. They had made the fence as hard as possible to get over, and easy to get back, but for a young athletic equine, it really was no barrier. I trotted through the low undergrowth to the cliff. The wind blew strongly, and my mane streamed behind. I sniffed the wind, drinking in the sight of the sky. It was blue like a robin's egg, with the occasional cloud scudding past and gulls careening in search of chips. My hooves shuffled on the loose ground.

"I'm sorry Clay. I know I promised..."

He would be angry with me, I knew. Almost as much as I was with him. Angry, there I had said it. I hated him for going, and for leaving me like this.

"You always were the strongest Clay. I never would have got this far without you. If you couldn't make it, what fucking hope have I got?"

The question was rhetorical. None. No hope, not for this useless bag of flesh. Time to pay. I had run through the litany of all those I had failed on my way here, and all those I had lost. It was too long, and I was too tired to keep fighting.

Time to cross the river, and take shelter under the trees.

I tensed, ready, but somehow it didn't come. I watched the waves on the rocks below, welcoming, but I could not do it. Not even able to do this right; survival instinct was all that I had.

I let out a blood curdling scream, eyes wide, staring at the heavens. I felt the bulk of my bag against me and had a sudden paroxysm of hate. My arms moved in wide circles and I flung it over the cliff, sending all the trappings of my life into the watery grave I wished for myself. I watched it go, tumbling through the air and then against the hard rocks of the cliff before a final splash.

And my legs would not move.

I don't know how long it was before I climbed back, defeated, and hunched over the bonnet of my car. I got in, almost paralyzed with self-hate, and tried the ignition. It wouldn't kick.

I had run out of fuel.

I sat propped against the useless bulk of my Ford feeling the wind in my mane for a long time. Eventually I stumbled in the direction of a sign. I didn't know what I was doing, but maybe if I walked along the cliff top, I would find the strength to do what I came for. The miles passed in a blur, sand and gravel under my hooves. I didn't acknowledge the passers by; I was in my own world now.

With a start, I realised the place in front of me was familiar. I had reached Coogee along the coast, and as I found my way back down to the beach, I saw the waves beckoning again. It was warm, too warm, and the sea looked as inviting as it had the previous day. I stood on the hot sand, as the day ebbed away and watched the water. A figure by my side caught my attention.

"Hey dude! Going for a swim again?"

It was the bull from yesterday. He was alone this time, no sign of his mates. He had his surfboard with him, but it didn't look like the conditions were good today.

"No...just looking..."

He nodded, and motioned to the spot next to him. I fell on the sand, grateful of a moment's rest. He seemed to realise I needed it.

"Chip?" he held out a greasy paper bag full of golden chips. They were still warm, and I found myself eating them with unrestrained hunger before I realised I was being impolite and went to apologise. He just gave me a grin.

"Sorry they aren't carrot..."

"Hey, us equines aren't all carrot obsessed you know!"

We shared a joke, and a casual shoulder tap. That was all. It was all that I needed.

He had his iPod out, and he saw me looking. He handed an earphone to me, and I screwed it into my right ear while I licked the salt off my fingers and shaded my gaze to stop the sun blinding me off the water. The song came into focus.

27 years of nothing but failures and promises that I couldn't keep Oh lord, I wasn't ready to go I'm never ready to go Let it ride Let it ride easy down the road Let it ride Let it take away all of the darkness Let it ride

My whole body tensed as the lyrics washed over me. The bull seemed to notice.

"Hey...do you like Ryan Adams?"

"Yeah...reminds me of someone that's all..."

Let it rock me in the arms of strangers angels until it brings me home Let it ride Let it roll Let it go

"I know it's a bit old but I like it and all and...hey mate...you ok?"

In the arms of strangers I had found and lost many things. But now, thanks to the infinite kindness of a stranger, I had found something precious again. I found the ability to cry.

The tears flowed with the music and I dissolved, weeping like a child. The bull didn't seem to mind.

"You want to talk mate?"

"No."

I expected him to walk away. Instead he let me rest my head on his shoulder. And that is how we were as the sun went down, one lost equine and a young bull whose name I didn't even know. He knew I didn't want to talk. He knew I couldn't be alone. A bit like Clay.

I also knew like the song said, I wasn't ready to go. Not yet, not here, not now. One day, one day I knew it would come, but not yet. Survival comes hard but it's a hard habit to break.

Let it rock me in the arms of strangers angels until it brings me home Let it ride Let it roll Let it go