She is not one of them. This land was wrought with history, she felt it vibrating from the rain-soaked ground as she walked. Something hung in the air, like a suffocating fog. Something drastic had happened here, a change. But she is not part of it. She can’t even remember how she got here, a huge chunk of her memory a black void. On a beach she had awoken, the edges of the waves lapping at her crumpled form. Washed ashore like a battered piece of driftwood, she had blinked the gritty sand away with bleary eyes. This place was not home. And even though she knew she would be weak on her own, without the protection of a herd, she had climbed to water-weary feet, her eyes on the treeline that sprouted away from the coast.

She had been walking through the forest for some time now, and even though she had yet to come across another horse there were signs of them everywhere. A well-worn path was winding amongst the trees, and every now and then she would see a tendril of mane or tail clinging haphazardly to the brush. Her steps were cautious, peering around from behind the curtain of black forelock to check her surroundings. It was difficult to be quiet, but she was being mindful of her steps, keeping them light against the damp ground. The air was cool, but through the tops of the trees she could see the sun trying to strain through. It had to be afternoon, if she were to guess.

Suddenly, she stops. Her muscles grew taut beneath her ragged, raven-black coat, her plain head elevating higher. With ears strained forward she listens, her breathing having nearly stopped. Up ahead was the quiet hum of voices, the indiscernible chatter of conversation bouncing off the trees. She cannot tell if they are friendly voices, and instinct tells her to not go any closer until she is sure. It would be foolish, to throw herself right into the lion’s den. The young black mare changes her direction just slightly, stepping off the worn path and ducking quietly into some thicker brush, trying to figure out a way to view these strangers without being seen.

His vividly colored mane and tail gives him away, his shadowy form nearly melting into the darkness if it weren’t for the shocking contrast. In the dappled light it catches the shape of his wings, and immediately her eyes widen and she takes a step back into the brush. She did not come from a land like this. She had never seen anything beyond natural colors, and certainly had never seen anything that resembled wings sprouting from a horse’s back. Even though her curiosity is thoroughly piqued, so is a certain kind of fear, an instinct that tells her this is not right, this is not normal.

”What are you?” She blurts the words out before she can stop herself, stepping boldly from the veil of darkness as she does so. The shadows hardly seem to fall away, her own coat so strikingly black, although it is marred by scars and dirt. She was young, but clearly had not been living the life of luxury. Everything about her screamed wild, from the muscles that had been hardened from constantly traveling, to the tangles and burrs in her thick mane, and in the way her dark brown eyes stare at him accusingly. Everyone was dangerous to her. Everyone was untrustworthy, especially in this strange land she had happened across.

With a tilt of her chin she stares up at him, every muscle drawn taut, her legs seeming to tremble. Not from fear, but with the idea in the back of her head that she might need to make a run for it, although she was already running various scenarios through her mind and wondering how she would escape something that could fly? Growing up in her small herd, outsiders had never been welcome. Her interaction with strangers was limited, but at this point she wasn’t even sure if this was another horse she was speaking to. There was also a tiny voice inside of her reminding her that she was the outsider, and that she was surely not welcome here.

If Briseis could read minds, she would challenge him that all wings and horns were imposters. It was all so incredibly strange to her, and this was without knowing that these kinds of things were fairly normal in this land she had washed ashore on. As far as she was concerned, the stallion in front of her was the only peculiar creature, and that was enough for her to be cautious. She was still holding her somewhat accusatory stare, though her muscles had loosened a little, having finally decided that he was most likely not dangerous. Despite the wings, his body language did not seem threatening.

His answer makes her jaw clench, her eyes narrowing a little. Since the shock of seeing wings had finally worn off she had noticed her poor choice in words, but that didn’t mean she liked having it pointed out to her. Briseis was young, only three years old, and like most adolescents she was not immune to having a bit of an attitude, although she mainly kept it in check. She was not a cruel creature, and her mother had always taught her to be respectful and hold her tongue.

Her head tilts when he says ‘aren’t the way they’re supposed to be’, and hesitantly she says, ”What do you mean? And how are you a pegasus? Those aren’t even real.” He was clearly real, standing directly in front of her. She can smell him, she can tell from the fairly short space between them that if she were to reach out and touch him that he would be solid, made of muscle and blood and bone, just like she was. But still, mythical creatures were not real. They just weren’t.

If possible she would have lifted an eyebrow when he offered his name, because “mortal” did not seem fitting for him. She was mortal. She was plain, she was only four legs and mane and tail, simple black, and dark brown eyes. Nothing special, and it had never occurred to her that there was anything other than what she was. ”Briseis”, she says, ”My name is Briseis. And I guess I’m lost. I am not from here, wherever ‘here’ is. The ocean spit me here.” And just when she thinks he cannot possibly get anymore bizarre or confusing, he starts spouting off something about a mountain. ”I don’t know what you mean by before the Mountain. Were mountains not present here before?” She gestures to the path she had just come from, for from that shoreline she had been able to see a mountain range. It didn’t look particularly strange to her, but obviously she was wrong.