Everything but the grass...

Her thumping heart matched his heavy hooves, as they crashed into the soggy colourful earth. The warm sharp wind was grabbing for them like daggers, trying to cut them apart. But they were too fast, even for the wind. The rolling land was lit up buy the moon, crickets and moreporks filled the night’s air with joyous music, the quiet fluttering and rustling of night goers brought the land to life. The envious full moon watched from the clear silent sky, wishing it could share the stallion and his riders passion, watching them glide through the tall overgrown grass, watching it give way beneath them. The moon lit up the stallions wild eyes, his wild ways. Everything about this stallion was wild, to everyone but this little girl. He would wait out the nights for when she would come and visit him; he would stand so still that the grass seemed to grow around his legs. The crickets would find shelter under his rough coat. She would wait out the seemingly lifeless days for when she could go and visit him, the night was so incredible through her eyes. She savored the cool mist and the warm breeze. She loved watching the moreporks sing in the magnificent orchestra that was the lively night. She would sneak across the empty paddocks every night, sprinting through old cow pats and jump over broken, rusty, crumbling fences. Across the fields she would sing to herself, she would sing about the stallion and the rolling land. Her smile lit up the misty night. Every night the grass would silently sing out to the stallion, dancing in the wind. She held on to only his mane, trusting him completely. And every night the mist would grow thicker, the thick, comforting blanket kept the crickets safe and singing throughout the night.

His gallop fell to slow canter, rocking her, sending her into a peaceful state. As the night fell darker she slipped off him, falling gently into the sweet, fresh smelling grass, watching him disappear further into the dark, rolling land.

She began to follow the silhouette, loosing herself in the thick cool mist which was so dense she felt she could no longer breathe. She cried out to him, called his name. Started running through the dancing grass towards the silhouette that once was, but never will be. It had completely disappeared into the deathly still, threatening mist. The new moon created an opening in the mist for her in which she collapsed in a sea of realization. The warm breeze tickled her neck. Closing her eyes she remembered how her stallion used to place his head upon her shoulder; how he used to blow the same warm breeze into her neck. They were so in sync with each other they were like one single object, cutting through the thick mist. A lone tear left her eye, finding its way onto the dew ridden grass. The grass silently sung out to him dancing in the breeze, falling still as no echoing hooves replied.