Typically, when wanting to point out that animals travel in groups, people talk about a pack of wolves. A lone wolf is truly a sad thing, and rarely does it survive long. Yet, as she looked upon the beautiful creature, Morgana decided that a lone pony was far sadder.

After her most recent attempt (and failure) in Camelot, she'd fled to the highlands of Scotland to reassess. For someone who'd always lied in cities, this rural environment was strange, and alluring. It was everything Morgana was not-peaceful, ageless, serene-but, unlike others who saw themselves as her opposite,it wasn't good. No, the land was harsh and brutal to survive in, which made doing so all the more rewarding to do so.

She loved it here, truly, and if it were not for her mission to free her people from their persecution in Camelot, she would stay here forever. Alas, that wasn't her fate, as this lone pony reminded her.

It was a Shetland, large for the breed, but far too small for a grown person to ride. Ideal for a child though, and often what children, such as Morgana herself, learned to ride on. This one was a pale palomino, with a forelock and mane that disappeared into the snow around it. Color-wise, it looked nothing like Shadow, the pony of Morgana's youth. He'd been thinner, and a dappled gray (or he would have been if she'd been better at keeping him clean.)

In all honesty, Morgana wasn't sure why this pony made her think so much of the one from her childhood, but it did. Looking at it, she felt six years old again, out on a ride with her father, or, in retrospect, the man she thought was her father. Those had been good times, before Gorlois died and Morgana was sent to Camelot. She was just a child, albeit a noble one, but a child none-the-less. She hadn't been responsible for the lives of a race so long persecuted. It made Morgana wonder if she could be like that again, free from responsibility. The pony tempted her on it, saying that she could be free, could be a child.

But Morgana knew it was a lie. No child had the duty that Morgana now did. Even if she got on this pony, she'd never be able to go back to the life she once lived. She would just go further north where, once winter kicked into full gear, she, and this lone pony would end up dead. Two lost souls didn't make a herd, and without a herd, every peaceful creature dies.


Hope you liked it! I know, it's really short, but that is how my stuff tends to be either 50,000 words, or 500. A fun fact about this story, is that after I got the inspiration for this I had another realization. Merlin's least favorite chore is to muck stalls, and that is literally my job. Honestly, he complains far too much about it; polishing armor is far worse. Anyway, just thought you might get a chuckle out of that.