To ride the horses and start rebellion
To go on to the moor looking for them
To run wild with them
And believe others would see the beauty

To Drink from the horses well
The hoof print of Pegasus
The spring of all waters

I’m fucked
But the beauty of it though

I lay my sword down at the foot of the arial. Waves of rain and wind washing through my dead horses hair.
I needed “ a spell to conjure the warm breath of horses and the dampened thump of hooves on sweet perfumed turf.”