The colt lay curled up in the coarse grass which glistened with dew in the first grey light.

Sea fog lay over the ridge overlooking the large natural harbour in the middle of the Orkney mainland, some thirty miles off the northern Scottish seaboard. A soft breeze was drifting in from the calm waters and stirred the mist into slow, cold swirls.

The thick grey blanket limited sight to maybe thirty yards and hid the view of the pier with the orange lifeboats below. It made the field seem to merge with the low hanging cloud.

The little creature shivered, its light grey fur and its steel blue mane and tail wet and matted. Its legs were blotchy with sand, bits of marram grass and kelp. Small wings protruded from its back, right behind the shoulder blades. They too were ruffled, wet and dirty.

There was a mark in the fur on its flank: a pair of saddlebags in a vibrant orange colour.

Sound was muffled in the dim greyness, not even the cry of one of the ever present seagulls carried on the air. The chattering of little teeth and soft crying were the only sounds to break the silence. A while later, he was startled by a soft snort from somewhere off to his right. His ears twitched at hearing faint steps in the grey.

“H... hello?” he said in a tiny voice.

Out of the fog a shadow emerged and hesitated for a few moments before it began to move towards him. He tensed and whimpered quietly. The shadow resolved into the outline of a stocky pony. It was about four feet tall, with a broad chest, strong legs and sturdy hooves. As it came closer, he could make out its off-white coat that contained a hint of yellow. The mane and tail were of a light grey with dark brown strands. There was a dark stripe down the length of its back, right along the spine.

Frightened, he lowered his gaze.

The animal's hooffalls came to a stop about a body length away. A soft nicker, sounding unsure. It hesitated. When he dared to look up at what turned out to be a mare, the pony gave a small, startled whinny. It took a half step back from the strange looking foal with the large, sky blue eyes.

“I know,” he whispered. “Go away.”

To his surprise, the mare seemed to gather herself and tossed her mane. The movement looked more like a shake of her head, followed up with a decisive hoof-stomp. She closed the remaining distance between them and bowed down to inspect the peculiar colt from up close. He tried to press himself into the grass in response, as if that could make him disappear. Still, he couldn't resist looking up at her, even if that now for the most part meant her dripping wet fetlocks.

She scented him. He could feel her warm breath on his neck and back and heard another surprised little sound. The wet grass made a squishing noise under her hooves as she shifted her weight and paused. Then her muzzle came down, brushed a short distance upward along his barrel and lifted the little wing she found there. He involuntarily unfurled it at the touch right below the wing joint.

He winced and buried his face in the grass again.

When she withdrew her touch and took a step back, he shivered and tried to fight the tears that were forming in his eyes again. He tried to wipe one eye with a clumsy forehoof, but only succeeded in hurting himself and smearing dirt on his face. The sniffling turned into a quiet sob.

The soft touch of warm air to his cheek startled him. Even more so did the careful nuzzle he received a moment later, just behind the ear and then to his muzzle. In a strange way, it was comforting.

He blinked and looked up into the face that was only a couple of inches away, right into the fjord pony's eyes. They held far too much intelligence for a simple horse. Right now though, all he could think about was the unexpected warmth that lay in the mare's gaze. Her pitying gaze; one that a horse should not be able to show any sign of whatsoever.

“What do you want from me?” he asked in a small and trembling voice.

Another nuzzle was the answer, this time just below his right shoulder blade. When he didn't react to that, he received another, somewhat more forceful one. The little yelp he gave in response clearly wasn't satisfactory to the animal. The next nuzzle was more of an impatient push that was accompanied by a snort.

“Alright! I- I get it!” he squeaked. An annoyed look at the sound of his own voice crossed his face and he snorted himself. That sound confused him enough to make him hesitate a little too long. He received another, stronger push. “Ow! I'm trying!”

His numb legs weren't easy to get up and walk on, not even with the mare's support. There being four of them to coordinate still didn’t help in the slightest. Several times he stumbled on the uneven ground and would have fallen, had it not been for the pony at his side. It carefully nudged him along, seeming a little irritated after a while. For a little while, they continued like this in a northerly direction until the colt stopped up without warning. That caused the mare to walk into him with a surprised neigh, pushing him over.

On the other side of the pasture they had been traversing was a dune summit, overgrown with stiff grasses and small patches of heather. In its lee sat a green tent. It was one of the sturdy geodesic ones, built to withstand most adverse weather conditions. The colour shone brightly in the diffuse yellow light of the clearing mist.

The tent flap was open and lazily flapped in the breeze. The tent itself was tilted to one side, as if something had collapsed against it. A large orange backpack sat in front of it, its contents half unpacked. A campsite with a small camping stove was next to it. On the ground was a tipped over kettle and an open glass of instant coffee, its by now half liquid contents spilled on the ground.

'Visit Scotland!' a brochure tucked into one of the pack straps of the pack advertised with abundant enthusiasm. The pack itself was adorned with a multitude of flags and badges from sights around the world.

Across from it sat another pack, this one a little smaller and bright turquoise. A worn camping mat lay off to the side, blown against the tent’s guy lines. Right in front of the pack was a sodden book, looking as if somebody had let it drop where they stood.

'Orkney and Shetland: The Magical Isles of the North'

The colt managed to rise to his hooves again despite the fact he was shaking now, although this time it wasn’t from the cold. The mare moved between her charge and the sight that was distressing him and tried to lead him down the incline to the little village to their left. When he didn't obey immediately, she bit down on his right ear and tugged him along. She ignored his protests and then his whining until they were well away from the fateful spot.

She led him north along the empty road, past the quiet homes and the deserted beach where he'd stumbled about the day before in his new and alien body. Somewhere in the silence, an alarm clock on the last leg of its batteries still tried to rouse its owner. An owner that had ceased to exist a few days ago, along with everybody else. The only one left was the colt now being shepherded past the settlement.

In the distance to the west, a large building sitting close to the shoreline became visible through the thin haze. It was a distillery warehouse, its white walls glistening in the morning sun. Bold black letters adorned the seaward side.

Only five days ago, he and his girlfriend Jenny had enjoyed a guided tour of the place and afterwards also a few samples of their ten year single malt. They had bought a bottle of one of the more expensive varieties and the following night in their small tent had been truly memorable. At about lunchtime next day, that and everything else he knew about his life and of how the world worked had turned into nothing but a memory.

Clip clop.

A little uphill from the village they reached a modest farmhouse. It was an old brick building with whitewashed walls, slate roofing and crossbars in the windows. There was a sign at the entrance to the neat driveway, its dark letters engraved on the lacquered wood.

Welcome to Hrossey Croft
Explore Orkney on Horseback!

There was a stable behind the house.
It was warm.

Author's Notes:

These events took place at the end of May 2015, a hundred and twenty years ago today.