Deep in the woods, near a fast-flowing stream one could find the fiery haired teen, sitting on a boulder and staring off into space. She feltâŚlost. She knew what day it was, knew that it ought to be spent doing something special; but how could she do anything special for motherâs day when she couldnât even be sure she had a mother? Was she out there somewhere, not knowing that Hope was alive? Was she dead, buried in some place that the mage would likely never know of? There were so many things that she was unsure of, but the thoughts going through her mind left her feeling⌠empty. One thing she was sure of was that she didnât like feeling this way; didnât want others to see her like this.
If she wasnât interrupted this was likely where she would remain for the rest of the day.
   Something bubbles up beneath the surface of the river, floating lifelessly from below to drift up top in a ghastly, most certainly corpse-like fashion. Itâs the shaggy head of a horse, with features sunken and skin pale beneath thinning white fur. Itâs not as gruesome as it could be, the supposed animal looking fresh enough that he could have fallen in and met his fate less than twenty-four hours before.
   Itâs not really an animal though, or at least, it isnât anymore and hasnât been in a very long time, or perhaps something outside of time. It floats down with the current a short distance before going stationary, as though it were caught on something deeper down. The eye sockets illuminate with a spiraling, bright white light and it rises from the depths to a full stand, revealing an uncanny humanoid body from the horse neck down, itâs entire being far too tall, with stretched-out proportions and a black and white suit in near perfection condition save for a light speckling of mud and algae.
   He doesnât say anything, but if the teen is receptive, she might get the impression of a mild-mannered or even familiar, familial sort of greeting. Theyâve never met, of course. This is simply the Brook Horseâs calling.
