The river seemed unfathomably deep and impassably wide. Big Macintosh lost purchase on the bed almost as soon as he was at the center of it. He trod water immediately, keeping his head up and collar high. He couldn't let Smarty-Pants get waterlogged. She was getting wet anyhow, simply because of his bobbing, but he was doing his best to minimize it.
He had never been much of a swimmer, just competent enough to paddle around in the pond without drowning. Now he was fighting the rush of water. It wasn't overly swift, but he was not eager to be moved down the body of the river and lose sight of his guide.
That guide was standing placidly on the other side, regarding him with his bright eyes, long beard waving slightly as he watched the floundering stallion. Big Macintosh fought hard to keep his head above water and Smarty-Pants safe. But as he splashed and pounded at the water's surface to keep himself above it, he called out, “Y'all mind lendin' a hoof?!”
A discomforting stare followed, as did silence, broken only by the desperate splashing. “I crossed the river of division with a mare. I had no guide to bring me across. We had only each other. How much do you love her?”
The words had the desired effect. Big Macintosh stopped seeking the long-gone river bottom and ceased flailing like a crazy being. He unified the motion of his hooves, pushing against the water with a coordinated will, stroke after stroke keeping his collar high and body shoving forward across the river that grew smaller and smaller as he made his way across it. With only a little more concentrated effort he had done it. His hooves found purchase on the ground of the bank and he pulled himself out of the water with a hard gasp and shake of his head.
“Your situation is different. You must be strong for both of you. She is counting on you, every trot of the way. Your strength is hers. If you fall, she falls.” With a tap of the staff, the zebra turned and began to walk away.
Big Mac turned back to look at the raging torrent he had just crossed. He saw nothing more than the little river he had seen his guide easily ford. With a shake of his head and the slap of his wet mane, he turned around again, taking Smarty-Pants out and laying her across his back to air her out and hopefully dry her. “Wait! Ah never got yer name.”
“Perhaps at another time. Nothing would be solved or helped by my telling you that.” The pair walked on, the pace set by the zebra. He was surprisingly spry for an old stallion walking with a stick. After a space of silence he went on, “I do not mean to be unkind, young stallion. But this is a long journey. And though I can see you are a taciturn fellow, even with little conversation, we would run out quickly. And then what?”
Big Mac slowly nodded his head, plodding along at the set clip, to give Smarty-Pants plenty of time in the sun, which was suddenly quite bright and full. “Mm, s'pose yer right, mister. No sense in needless chatterboxin' an' suchlike. Jes like ta know who ah'm travelin' with.”
“I understand you, youngster. All I can say is that you can trust me.” The zebra hummed softly. “Yes, I know... but have you another idea about what you should do aside from following behind me?”
“Eenope...” The big red stallion dipped his head thoughtfully, watching the surroundings pass slowly, again an expanse of identical landscape. But unlike on the other side of the river, the grass was much lower and softer. The landscape was not a flat expanse, but rolled gently, with a few small hills visible. “Mighty nice place y'all got here mister. Looks right homey.”
The zebra nodded his head. “It is not mine to take credit for. This gentle lea is, indeed, a very wonderful place. Would you care to lay yourself down and rest here? I'm sure you could find life in here a very good one. Plenty to eat, at the very least. And water back there at the river.”
Big Mac looked up at the sky. Bight and blue, with scattered clouds and a bright sun beaming down on the scene. The grass DID look tasty, with thick blades lacking a rigid, sharpened edge. It was certainly a good place to put down roots. A perfect spot for a homestead. “Gotta keep movin'. Miss Smarty-Pants can't move. An' y'all said yerself ah'm the one movin' her along.”
The other stallion gave a slight nod and smiled just a touch as he walked on, perhaps a bit faster than he had been before. “Some choose to stop here. It is warm and pleasant and peaceful. Certainly, the granter is far from here, and their deepest desires remain unfulfilled. But sometimes there is no real need. Sometimes it is sufficient to have this sort of comfort. The problems may have been only scenery. Thus some will come only this far.”
Silence flowed in after the explanation of the temptation, both males moving on at the newly-increased pace, with Big Mac stopping to check on Smarty-Pants and her state of recovery from the river. His guide did not halt during the inspection, leaving the pony to gallop to catch up, making the stuffed doll bounce wildly on his back. “Ah don' mean ta pry into yer past, but ya seem ta know the place. Y'all have been through here. Did... did ya stop in this place an' make yerself happy with that mare ya mentioned?”
Another thick blanket of quiet rolled in, with the soft rustle of grass underhoof breaking the notion that all sound had simply died. “To be far away was certainly a good thing. And it helped to find a beautiful place under a friendly sky. But that was not simply the end of it. There was more to it than could be fixed by pretty days and fresh grass. Our desires were deeper, and our needs greater. We did not settle, as other did and will do. We trotted on. But I had no way of knowing that was the right thing. I only knew it did not suit our needs to lay down and accept things.”
The sole response was an understanding grunt, Big Mac contemplating his state. He was alone. The guide would only point the way, and never help him. He faced the temptations alone. With her. But without her. She saw what he did. But she could not help even if every fiber in her cloth body screamed out for it. Without the animating force, she was like any other doll.
He took her off of his back and brought her up for a kiss. “No. Not like any other...”
“What is that? What are you saying back there, young one? Do try to understand that I am a very old zebra. I don't hear the way I used to when I first walked the road to the granter.” The pace was unchanged, moving along with a purpose and a will, towards a darkened area of the horizon that had suddenly reached Big Mac's notice.
“T'wasnt nuthin' aimed at ya, sir. I was jes makin' sure Miss Smarty-Pants knew how ah felt 'bout her an' knew ah was gonna see it through.” After another kiss, he tucked the doll back into his horse collar. He became increasingly aware of a noise, coming from the distance, a very faint sound that had a touch of sharpness about it. “If ah may ask, jes where is it we's headin'?”
In lieu of an answer, the old zebra asked a question of his own. “Tell me, young stallion, do you know what 'incontinence' means?”
“Eeyup.” Big Mac answered, with a sad shake of his head. “We's all worried that Granny's gonna need ta wear them 'special' clothes come her next birthday 'r so on account of, she ain't getting younger...”
“No, young one. There is an even older definition. It is to be unrestrained, to not hold back a thing, in deed and thought. If you cannot control yourself in that sense, then you never should have crossed the lea. Or even the river. You may not think much of physical challenge, but base temptation will surely try you once you leave this place.”
“Eenope. T'aint gonna happen. Ah'm not like the types that'll jes give in.” Big Mac puffed his chest out proudly, though returned to his prior posture as the noise which had been in the background became more audible. It was a whistling, rushing noise, as of the rush of air. And given his middle sibling's fiancee, he was quite familiar with noises like that.
“I do not doubt you feel so deep within you, young one. I do not doubt it at all. And I applaud that bravado and certainty. Maybe you HAVE been tested somehow, back in your regular life. I hope it served you and steeled you. Here you need only will. But a lot of it.” The zebra pointed to a newly-appeared feature, a cliff's edge. Down below in the valley was the sound of a tempest, with the wind rushing around through the oddly-shaped canyons and hole-filled heights that lay spread out like the tunnels of some colony of tremendous worms. “It stretches across as far as the limit of your muscles, and never ends, not even to taunt you. You cannot trot aside. Only through.”