The wind blew strong over the cliff-tops, tossing the manes of the two stallions that stood in the shadow of the sleeping volcano. The air was cold, and only a few leafless heather bushes clung to life in the scrubby soil.
A gull cried overhead, high and plaintive. A curious glance of those bright black eyes, shining like buttons, examined the two stallions beneath as they plodded resolutely onwards. Another gust of wind snapped at their heels, and the darker of the two had to catch at his stetson to keep it from blowing away.
The gull wheeled with the wind, searching for the current that would carry it home across the island to its waiting mate and chick. They would be hungry, but the bird’s craw was full of fish for its young. Summer was brief here, but it was enough.
Far below, the two stallions halted beside a flat patch of ground. A circle of shattered stones lay in a rough circle, showing what could have once been a wall. Beyond it were a few hummocks of grass, hardly visible at all. The gull looked down one last time as the blue stallion touched his hoof to each of those three hummocks, and his head dipped low. The brown stallion reached out to him, and the blue leant in to his shoulder and finally began to weep.
The gull found its wind at last, and with a rush burst away from the pair, flying swiftly on its narrow white wings for home. The Highlands sped by beneath it, as barren and bleakly beautiful as they had always been.