and I discovered that my castles stand
upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand
Texas has spent time outside the borders of Beqanna, but he has no desire to return there. When he disappears (as he is prone to do every few decades) it is always within the depths of the forests or in the craggy mountains; he does not stray far from his homeland.
And so he knows that there are others out There, living lives far different from those of the horses within Beqanna. Yet as far as they are from here they find their way here, picking their way across barren wastelands or traveling across the sea, sometimes even waking in the Field despite having fallen asleep ten thousand miles away. It’s a strange place, the Field, and the feel of impermanence in the place is almost thick enough to taste.
He doesn’t know what has brought the heavily scarred mare here, but she seems appropriately wary of strangers, which Texas can appreciate. She also doesn’t seem inclined to chatter, which is one of Texas’ favorite traits in those that he spends time with. Perhaps she’d fit in at the Falls. He’s about to ask what she’s doing in the Field, but the sound of hooves makes him turn away. It is much easier to see the golden mare in the darkness than it was to see Zylan; the moonlight is especially bright on her silver mane. She smells of sand and thirst and Texas suddenly wonders if the wounded mare from the Gates had ever made her way to Desert that Yael is clearly from.
Her voice is heavily accented, enough so that he wonders if the Beqanna tongue is not her native one. She is not who he is here for though, he reminds himself, and after offering her a nod he turns back to the other mare who has just been asked a similar question to the one that he’d been prepared to voice. “Same thing I was going to ask,” he says rather than remain strangely mute, and offers a brief smile.
texas
