His eyes searched along the horizon, looking for anything. He had taken such a quick pace the last few hours, the slow and ambling walk almost made his body ache more. It knew he had slowed down, but it was asking him to stop. He had to take his eyes off the horizon to look further towards the ground. “You can rest.” That was all he felt like he needed: rest. He looked a bit ahead of himself, concentrating where all four hooves stepped. The storm had appeared close to out of nowhere, making it hard to anticipate weather’s next moves. But maybe it wasn’t the weather’s moves he was trying to anticipate. He felt sick from all of this anticipation that wouldn’t do him any good. For some reason, he wasn’t sure how this would go over.

Dreamer wondered if it’d be rejected. Would he be chased away again? He wasn’t sure how he’d react to being chased. He had been chased so much. It felt as if he wasn’t really wanted. He wasn’t needed. That’s why they had gotten rid of him. His protection was no longer wanted. But did they need it? He didn’t know. The past months had made him so unsure of everything. At first, he had thought it was just some sort of initiation. It would stop eventually. But after the first month of it, he didn’t know anymore. He didn’t know why he stayed so long. Maybe it was his punishment to himself. Maybe he needed someone to finally knock him down on the social ladder. But now that it had been done, he didn’t know how to feel about it.

No matter how much torment Crius would give him, he knew what his reaction would be. He had endured so much of the same thing, he knew what was going to happen. Crius would most likely not be happy to see him, no matter what he looked like. But he needed to get out of this funk. He needed to stop thinking like this. He hated it. He didn’t want to feel like this. This is not who he was. Have they really affected me this much, he wondered. This wasn’t real. He had won his freedom. He needed to act like it. Where was the horse he knew before? The one that stood tall, proud of who he was? Where did he go? Dreamer knew he was there somewhere. He had to be. He was only dimmed. Dig deep.

Here he was, staring at the ground, because he couldn’t pick his feet up enough. He may have been beaten, exiled, and borderline almost killed, but he couldn’t let that stop him. He would go into that battle with his head held high. He would walk past these horses without looking like some foal who just had a stern talking to by their dam. He wasn’t going to act like some child who didn’t know how to stand up for themselves. He knew how to. Dreamer had proved that he was capable of it. He just needed to find it. He may be tired, exhausted, and broken, but he couldn’t let that stop him. But first, he needed to get over what happened. He needed to put it in the past.

The stallion lifted his head up from the ground, instead looking at the horizon again. His eyes felt droopy, but he’d rest soon. Right after he talked to Crius. This wasn’t the time to be all self pity. Dreamer needed to focus on what was important now. He had his friend by his side again. He could walk towards the herd and even in their vicinity. He was Dreamer: the stallion who wouldn’t back down. The stallion who’d fight for anybody who needed it. Including himself. Just because he didn’t share his feelings didn’t mean he didn’t have them. The only way to get past it was to accept it. In reality, he knew why it had affected him this much, but he didn’t want to admit it. It had ruined his image of himself and what he had built up. He had been beaten without putting up a fight. Was that something he would normally do? No. So why did I do that? He had no answer for himself. Only that it was his choice, and he needed to accept that.

With a horse there, specifically his friend, offering a shoulder to lean on, his worries seemed to melt. He had someone there for him, someone who appreciated who he was. Someone who would protect who he was. He was not dead. He should appreciate that. He knew that he could’ve been dead, but something had willed him not to. He had fought on for six months in those horrible conditions. He had wanted to survive through it. Suddenly, it all made sense to him. The reason he didn’t fight back, the reason he had stayed for so long. The reason he had fought for freedom after such a long time. It was his punishment to himself for what he had done.

Dreamer knew he had let plenty of the others down for what he did. He could see the looks in their faces as he was chased away for the very first time. He had found the herd that made him suffer. And he felt as if he deserved it. He didn’t fight back, because he always fought back. Fighting back was what got him into this whole mess in the first place. But now, after six months of the punishment, he felt different. He felt as if he had learned when was the right time. Had he really? He didn’t know for sure. There were so many things that used to make sense. Now, all he knew was that he was going back. He was going back to who he used to be with just a little revision.

After his sudden realization, he felt immediately better. It wasn’t that he wasn’t needed. He just needed to learn. There were plenty of things he needed to learn, but none felt as important as this. Surely, there was no way he was going back down from this fight. Not this time. After winning his freedom, he knew what had to be done. Though he felt much better about the situation, he couldn’t help but still feel exhausted. A rest was well deserved. It was close. The horse by his side would watch over him while he slept, he was sure of it. Even if the others weren’t fond of him, he had someone who was. However, that made him think.

He had shown up out of nowhere. Was his friend looking for him? He didn’t know. All he knew was that they had found each other. The past six months, however, were still a mystery to each other. Dreamer had no idea what had happened to Rhysand during the time period, and his friend didn’t know his, either. He didn’t know whether he wanted to share, but he wanted to know. The silence was okay with him, but he didn’t know how to break it. Conversation? Not his strong suit. However, he was comforted just by having his friend by his side. He was going back to a place where he was once content. But he wasn’t sure if the others were content with him.

The only question that racked his mind now was: Did Rhysand want to know what happened to him during those six months? He wondered if his friend was curious or whether it was obvious. He knew. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever forget. Though, Dreamer also knew that he wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Even Rembrandt. The other stallion may be horrible and egotistic, but that was similar to him, in a way. He knew what the actions had done to him. It had broken him for six months. It had taken him six months to crawl out of that hole. And that hole? It was death. He knew if he had stayed for much longer, he would’ve soon died. He couldn’t bear it any longer. If anyone knew how to fight a war, it was him.

And he surely would be fighting that war.

What is it he wanted? Oh, he knew what he wanted. He wanted a war for what happened to him. He wanted whoever was responsible to be held accountable. And the one responsible for it stood before him. He was acting threatening. Head high, stern voice. He knew what it meant. It didn’t bother him that much. Maybe slightly, but he didn’t want to admit it. However, the word “outside” sent him off the edge. He was not an outsider. He spent the majority of his life protecting this very herd, Crius included. There was once a time he protected the very stallion who exiled him. Did he regret it? Slightly, but there was no going back now. He was nowhere near an outsider. They knew him, and he knew them. This brought him to the edge. He was already half way on it, but now, he had fallen off.

“To start a war,” he raised his voice on purpose.

His eyes changed from what they were when he looked at Rhysand for the first time to stone. He had no emotion to spare for the stallion before him. The stallion that caused the punishment. Though he accepted it, that did not mean he took kindly to being put in that situation. His body had been broken, not to mention himself. He looked horrible; ribs showing, open wounds, rain coating his entire body. But Dreamer did not once shiver. He didn’t need Crius’ pity, if the horse had any of that in him. He raised his own body, trying not to look miserable. Even though he felt miserable, he did not need the pity. He did not want the pity. He wanted to rest; he wanted this over with.

“You wanna know what war? The one between the two herds. Oh, I know about it. I heard it straight from the mouth of hell,” he took a brief pause of silence, mulling over his thoughts. “You don’t know what you did to me, do you?” he finally bursted out, his voice laced with the pain he had felt all these months.

He scoffed, the black tail flicking hard against his body. He looked at the other stallion. He was large, well built, and muscular. He knew nothing of hell. He knew nothing of how Dreamer felt. In reality, Crius may know nothing at all. To him, this horse caused more pain and hate then he did good. There was no good in this herd. Crius put them directly in danger every day he continues to live next to the hole. The hole, that’s what he’d call it. It wasn’t even a herd. More like a hole that dying animals surrender themselves to. The hole Crius had driven him to. Did he expect Dreamer to live off of the land as a bachelor stallion? No, he expected him to die. To Dreamer, there was no way he had any remorse about what he did. In reality, he felt more remorse for the herd than he did the lead stallion.

“It hurt, Crius. It actually hurt me. And should I want to help you, fight alongside you? No. And I don’t,” his voice became harsh, his tone changing every single time he spoke.

He picked himself up, his voice feeling stronger every time he used it. It felt good to finally speak out like this. He knew he was getting a little off topic, but he needed to say it. He needed them to know what happened. And why it happened. Who caused it. They needed to know. They needed to know what the hole was. The hole. The hole of the devil. The hole of death. He looked near death, and he knew it. He couldn’t let Crius get away with it. He would only help for the sake of the herd. The sake of his friend. The sake of the foals. Anyone who needed protection. But if Crius were to need it? Dreamer wasn’t sure if he’d offer it to the stallion any longer.

“I was trapped in hell. And during the fire, I heard it. I can help you,” he knew he sounded estranged as he rambled on. “I know their plans, their horses… Their land, even. I know. You don’t. I can teach you. If you let me back,” the last sentence had a bit of a jagged undertone hidden in it.t.

All he knew now was that he needed to soften up. If he was too harsh, Crius wouldn’t want to let him back in. Did he want to join? He wasn’t sure, but he needed to. He couldn’t fend for himself for much longer, especially with the other herd this close by. He’d need to leave both lands. Leave all of them. Leave his friend; again. He wasn’t sure if he could leave. Not without at least speaking to him, in the very least. His eyes melted for a second, thinking about how it could be. He could be safe once more, and he could protect them. But instead, he was stuck in this situation, feeling as feeble as a twenty-five year old mare. He needed rest. His throat was starting to throb. This was the most he had spoken in six months. Hell, maybe even his entire life. But he still wasn’t finished.

“I’m not in fighting condition, I will admit,” he turned his head towards Rhysand.

His head dropped as he thought about it. How did he expect to fight a war when he looked like this? His body was ragged, and so was his spirit. He’d been dragging it along for so long. He felt as if he couldn’t take much longer of it. He needed to rest, and rest he would. He had to get behind his own words. Dreamer needed to believe what he was speaking. His brain hurt, his legs hurt, everything hurt. He began to wonder if he had it in him. Did he have that horse in him? Did he have the fighting spirit? Was he still the guardian? Everything in him screamed “no”. He was no longer that horse. He was no longer worthy of it. He tossed his brain, trying to get back into the spirit.

“I fought for my life for six months straight. Give me a break,” his voice lowered. But he still didn’t gaze at the horse he was speaking to.

He wasn’t sure where those words came from, but in an instant, he knew they were true. He knew he had fought, and he had lived. Barely, but he had lived. In an instant, Dreamer remembered who he was. He did not need to be wallowing in self pity. He was a warrior; a guardian. There was no need to feel this way. In the back of his head, ‘the hole’ still rampaged on. He just needed to keep it there. At the back of his memories. Not in front. The front was for the important things, and that was not of current events. That was the past. He needed to focus on the current. The future was too far away to think about. All he wanted to know was if he was going to be safe for one night. Just one night, and he would take it. That’s all he needed. Just time to sleep.

“Give me time. I will be your greatest warrior.”

He felt ashamed to have to ask Crius for this. He turned his head away to look at the grass. He was asking Crius for time. Time; that would take forever. He wasn’t sure how the stallion would react to his words, but he was hoping for a good reaction. He needed it. He needed something good, something to alleviate his stress. But now, he had promised to be Crius’ greatest warrior. And the greatest warrior is always the one who overthrows his ruler. Maybe that was his plan. He did detest the stallion. But did he detest him that much? Yes. Yes, he did. Oneday, he wondered on the inside. In his brain, he didn’t know what he was doing. There was no way for him to know, but he had to keep speaking. There was one last thing he needed to say to Crius.

“Even if I might not look it now, I will prevail,” his voice solidified.

His words were true. Deep down, he knew that he would get through this. He may need a bit of assurance, but he would get there. He just had to want to. There were days he didn’t want to live anymore. Days he wanted to see what the rainbow bridge had to offer. But was he there? No. He was here, in front of another horse. He was here, fighting for his life. Still. It seemed he didn’t have it in him to give up. There is no giving up, Dreamer reminded himself. He would never give up. Hope has its ways, and it seemed to like the grulla stallion. He would get through this. Every last bit of it. He knew there was an end to it. And maybe even a happy end, too. Maybe he deserved it. Did he? Happiness? Did he deserve it? Maybe not now, but he could surely earn it.

“Just remember this one thing,” his voice dropped, and he brought his head close to Crius’.

His eyes locked back to the offender, after spending some time inspecting the grass. There was no way he was going to let the lead stallion think he was giving up. That he was asking for pity. He was not asking for pity. He was asking for trust, time, rest. That’s what he needed. He did not need pity. His ribs may be sticking out, but his heart was not. His heart did not go out to Crius in any way, shape, or form. He pinned his ears, taking a few steps forward. He was now in the other’s personal space, taking up a place he was sure he wasn’t wanted in. Dreamer knew he was not welcomed to Crius. He knew he would only accept for the greater good of the herd, even if he did cause this himself.

His body may be weakened, his spirit may be weakened. But he was not broken. Not yet, anyways. He had fought in a war already. A war to save his life. What was it to have another one? He knew it would happen. It was inevitable. There was no way to avoid it. He knew how much the other herd, especially Rembrandt, had hated his guts. He hated them, too. Just a little bit. He did things in those six months he was not proud of. He regretted every bone in his body that chose to stay. There was no way he could have known what would happen, but he stayed. Even if it was for him to realize a lesson, he would have gone back and left. He would have changed it. It would not have been six months of absence.

If Dreamer could, he’d go back and fix it. He’d change the time he was gone to as small as possible. Maybe a month, at max. But six months? He let it go on too long. He had ignored the feelings of his friend and acquaintances. He had let them believe he was dead. He was dead. On the inside. He no longer felt like himself. He was almost there, but he hadn't found the finish line. As much hate and self pity he had, he knew he’d make it there. He knew the finish line was in sight. He just didn’t know how far away. If anything, Dreamer would win this war. He would be himself again. He would have everything he wished for. Even if he didn’t know what that was yet, he would have it.

“I may be weak, but I am not defeated,” his tone matched the ears pinned back to his head as he whispered.

He was free. He had time to himself. He didn’t have to stand, he didn’t have to talk. He was free. He could go and take the time he needed. And boy, did he need time. He needed all the time he could get in the world. He may not have won his entire freedom, but he won him at least a month’s worth. At least until his usefulness began to wane. All he needed was a little bit of time. A little bit of time was all that Dreamer needed. He would get better. There was something small tinging in the back of his mind that knew it. However, his legs could no longer take it. Now that he knew he no longer had to stand, he couldn’t. He physically, and mentally, could not keep his body above the ground for any longer.

The stallion reached his head down to the ground, sniffing at it. It was wet; his favourite. He felt his legs go. They didn’t buckle; they just went. Before he knew it, his body was on the ground. His legs were bent awkwardly underneath, not having been given the proper time to get into position. The stallion’s head was pushed forward on the ground, and his ears were flopped. There was nothing left in his body now that he had nothing to fight for. Maybe there was something he was missing, but he didn’t have it in him to deal with anything more. He had collapsed, both physically and mentally. His brain felt as if it were shutting down. Nothing racked his brain. It was empty. All but for one thing.

Crius would regret his choice. That, he was sure of. The greatest warrior is always the betrayer. But for now, he needed rest. He could think of that later. Later, when he had properly rested. There was too much that he needed. His ears flicked as his breathing heavied. His body, though on the ground now, still felt as heavy as when he were standing. Everything felt heavy. Everything was gone. He was a shell of his former self. He’d likely never get back to where he was. He might never be that horse again. Two different parts of his brain argued the more he thought. One said that he would be restored to his former glory, maybe even greater. But the second part was leaning heavier now. The second part said that he wasn’t worthy of being that horse, that what his life meant wasn’t really a meaning.

Dreamer hated it. Quite frankly, he might even hate himself. He wasn’t sure, but he felt like it. He had been gone for six months. He had been a horse that wasn’t him. He looked unrecognizable, weak. And that’s what he was. Weak. That’s what he’d forever be if he continued to be like this. He didn’t deserve the sliver of kindness Crius gave him, but he was going to run with it. That’s all he could do. He could try. Even if he wasn’t sure how much he wanted to try, that was what he could do at the very least. Every bone screamed not to try, not to get up. He just wanted to be there and not do anything. There was nothing that made him want to get up.

His head sank further into the ground, the mud allowing for his neck to be fully stretched out. His cedar eyes had closed by now. His eyelids were restful; he actually was somewhat peaceful. He was no longer fighting. He was accepting. Accepting the fact of who he was currently. A weak horse who might become someone again. He didn’t know. He was tired of pondering it. He was tired of being where nobody wanted him. Maybe nobody wanted him here. He could never be too sure. Dreamer didn’t know if he’d ever be sure about anything anymore. He felt like he was gone; he wasn’t anyone he knew. There was something about him that just didn’t flow with him. And what bothered him the most was that he couldn’t set his mind on it.

His mind now worked differently than it had six months ago. He now had more fear riddled in the back of it than he ever had in his life. Being scared for one’s life, quite literally, did not affect him in any positive way. He might even be scarred. The outside of him sure was, and he felt like he was on the inside. Heat came from every bone in his body. Even in the cold rain that was now lifting, he didn’t feel cold. The stress of every muscle, brain included, caused his entire body to warm. Everything was wrong. He didn’t deserve to be here. He hadn’t earned his redemption. But he couldn’t bring himself to get up, his tail swatting at the ground in a mixture of pain and frustration.

Everything around him seemed to fade. Dreamer seemed to forget the fact that he had just collapsed in front of a herd. That didn’t seem to matter to him. His reputation was long since ruined. There was no way for him to get back up there now. Not even with help. He kept repeating a single phrase to himself: “I don’t deserve it.” And he didn't think he deserved the land he laid on, the horses that were around him, not even the friendship he had hoped to gain back. He didn’t deserve any of it, and that’s what made his heart finally break. All of it had broken him. The exile, the hole, and now the war. Could he fight it? He didn’t know. He’d never know. THe ground was his home now. The mud solidified this as his head began to rest easier in it.

He had spent time with them. He was a traitor. He should be dead. He was close to death. Maybe this would be his final resting place; right here, in the mud. If he focused, he could hear his own heartbeat. Rather, he could feel it. And it was weak, just as he was. Was there anything for him to fight for? He couldn’t find anything in his brain. But for now, he was tired. He just wanted to lay here. His body was in pain. He was in pain. Everything about life hurt. He didn’t know why he had even survived The Hole. He should have decayed there; been their punching bag for the rest of his life. He had barely eaten in his time there. Not even on his journey back. His life seemed worthless now. He was not wanted anywhere. Why would he want himself?

Dreamer didn’t even know if he was ever going to be able to stand again.