Heartbeats rushing, manes tangled together, flying down the beach.

Skye clung to her horse, arms thrown around his neck, legs hanging over his broad sides. Her heart knocked against his withers, and his deep, even breaths filled her own lungs with air. 

She could feel his heart thumping through his back, and his stride came fluidly, same as ever. Dun-dun-dun-dun. Only in her dreams she heard it.

His sandy mane, flaring nostrils sucking air, broad chest caving in and puffing out when he galloped. Hooves slamming, banging the earth. The white star beneath his thick forelock glowing through the misty moonlight, lambency like a beacon of hope. Muscles twitching, charged and tense. Ears swiveling, constantly swiveling, catching sound from all four winds.

His heaving sides were faintly dappled, like chimney smoke on kitten paws. Like breaths that almost weren’t taken. His heavy, hulking head and arched neck, ears pinned flat, breath blowing gulps of steam. His stride was like tight, rhythmic strums on a hefty acoustic guitar. 

His shrill, high whinny, with an echoey tone, that bounced off cliffs, rocks, shipwrecks, sea spray. Even when it was just miles and miles of uncharted beach, uncharted waters, his cry still rang out, as though it was buffering, hinged on some invisible anchor, pulling him back again and again. 

Calling him.

Through the storm.

Only in her dreams.