think about it, there must be higher love
down in the heart or hidden in the stars above
So far the meadow was the only home Isle knew. She had heard of the others by sorting through the minds of horses whose attention was focused elsewhere, on deep thought, on conversation. The Chamber was the one she knew best and that was because of mom. Oksana thought of it often, worried about going back to see her heart sister who she missed so dearly, worried about going back and seeing someone else. But that thought always ended the same, abruptly, without a name for Isle to cling to.
It was incredible how fast she was learning to control the mind-reading. At first the noise had been amazing, so vibrant and fulfilling like finding a long lost friend. But as the days swept past, the noise had turned to a static that blurred her thoughts and made her head ache. Dad had showed her how to make it better though, how to pick which thoughts she wanted to let through and which ones she could trap behind a barrier.
She practiced now with Wyck nearby, standing comfortably in the shade of a large oak tree. Mom and dad had given them some space to be children, Oksana had taken to the skies and Dempsey was probably close enough to rifle through their thoughts in case woe found them. Isle closed her eyes and those small brown ears flicked back to bury themselves in the mohawk of black mane that rose from the crest of her neck. First she imagined the meadow, dad’s meadow, the metaphorical one that sprawled so wide across her imagination that it pushed everything else out. Methodically, she matched the thoughts with colors, it seemed easier this way, and then slowly began eliminating the louder colors, the louder voices that made her head hurt. She even tried to dull Wyck’s bright yellow thoughts a little, not because he made her head hurt, but because it was about as easy as pushing her own thoughts away. She felt a frown crinkle her mouth as she tried to decide if his thoughts seemed any quieter than usual. She was pretty they didn’t.
She had managed to empty the imaginary meadow pretty well, leaving Wyck’s yellow and a few calmer thoughts, cloudy grays and dull blues. But suddenly something new approached, a voice, a thought, a pink color even brighter than Wyck’s sunshine yellow! Her eyes shoot open and she spins on her haunches just as the sound of giggling appears on the other side of the oak tree. Peering around the tree with a lopsided smile Isle watches the girl. “Hi Namaah, I’m Isle!.” She flashes a look of eagerness Wyck’s way as she pulls herself fully around the trunk to better see this new friend. “And this is my brother, Wyck.”
ISLE