Her footsteps were clumsy, uneven, almost frantic. Every part of her body moved faster than her mind could keep up with. Grass rushed beneath her as if the world itself pushed her forward. Her breathing hitched, but the air tasted sweet and clean, nothing like the cold metallic smell of a hospital room.
For a moment, she felt like a miracle.
Then her right foot missed the ground entirely.
The earth rose up and slammed against her side. Pain shot through her ribs, and her palms scraped rough dirt and stiff blades of grass. The breath punched out of her lungs in a single trembling gasp. She stayed frozen, cheek pressed against the cool ground.
It hurt. It hurt more than she expected.
Her vision blurred. Thoughts flickered frantically, confused and frightened. She tried pushing herself up, but her arms trembled so hard that her elbows nearly buckled. Her muscles new, unfamiliar muscles, felt like they barely remembered how to work.
How could she have run so easily a moment ago, only to collapse now?
Her chest tightened.
Scents flooded her senses: fresh soil, wild grass, and the faint musk of distant animals. So much life. All at once, too much.
She had spent years without any of it. Without the sky. Without the wind.
A memory cracked open inside her.
Hospital. White ceilings. Beeping machines. Pale arms too thin to lift. Legs that would not respond. A body that refused to be hers.
Her breathing quickened. The world spun under her.
She curled her fingers into the grass as if holding on would keep everything from slipping away. Grass brushed her cheeks. Her ears twitched, an unfamiliar movement that sent a shiver through her. A tail she didn't know how to control lay awkwardly against the dirt.
Her thoughts fractured. Her body trembled, and then the perspective inside her snapped open to the truth she feared.
...
I cannot do this. I thought I could.
I thought I could run.
I thought this new body would make things right.
I press my forehead into the earth and squeeze my eyes shut. My heart is racing too fast. The air hurts to breathe. My body feels like it belongs to someone else. I do not deserve this. I do not deserve legs that work. I do not deserve freedom.
I spent years begging for just one step.
Now I cannot take even one more.
I feel tears on my cheeks. Real tears. Not saline from a nurse's hand, not the dryness of eyes that gave up crying long ago. I dig my fingers deeper into the grass. I want to disappear inside it. I want the world to forgive me for not knowing how to exist.
My legs burn. My lungs ache. My chest hurts more than it ever did when machines helped me breathe. Machines… doctors… white ceilings… The memories clawed their way back.
Tube in my arm. The taste of metal every time they changed it. Voices whispering and thinking I couldn't hear. Pity in every smile.
"She's so strong."
"She's still fighting."
"Such a brave girl."
Brave? What was brave about being trapped? All those years… staring at the same walls… wanting to touch sunlight. Now sunlight touched her everywhere, and she didn't know how to hold it.
A sob tore out before she could swallow it down. What if this was a punishment? What if this world only gave her legs to remind her she couldn't use them? She clawed at the soil as if she could bury the fear under her nails.
"I… I don't know how," she whispered, her own voice unfamiliar in her ears. "I don't know how to live… or walk… or be this." Her breathing sped up. Her heart hurt. Tears spilled fast. Why didn't they let me die fully? Why did they bring me here, only to break me again?
Her throat tightened at the memory of voices behind doors, doctors whispering that therapy wasn't helping enough. Parents crying quietly, believing she couldn't hear. Nurses cheering for every tiny improvement that always slipped away again.
Weak.
Fragile.
Hopeless.
She forced her eyes shut, refusing to let those words write her story again.
...
Footsteps rustled through the grass.
A voice broke the silence.
"Hey. Are you alright?"
It was a girl, older, maybe by a few years — with dark auburn hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. Her clothes looked like stable wear: boots muddy from morning chores, gloves tucked into her belt, jacket sleeves rolled to the elbows. Her Uma ears were a soft russet color, and her tail swayed gently behind her.
She crouched carefully, not too close. Concern, not fear, shaped her expression.
"You took a pretty hard fall. Can you stand?"
That word again. Stand.
That word tightened every muscle in her legs. She wanted to answer. She needed to answer. But her voice hid somewhere in the fear still sitting heavy in her throat. She opened her mouth, nothing came out.
The girl didn't push. She simply smiled, warm and patient.
"It's alright if you can't yet. I can help."
No sharp tone. No suspicion. Just a calm voice like soft wool wrapped around a trembling heart.
The fallen filly flinched and curled inward, frightened that touching would hurt more.
"I… thanks…" she whispered, voice trembling.
The farm Uma's expression softened even more.
"It's alright." She waited a moment. "You pushed yourself too hard, didn't you?"
The girl on the ground didn't answer.
"Just by looking at you, I can already tell." She let out a soft chuckle as she helped the filly stand with steady, gentle hands. "There you go. That's it."
Her body wobbled a little, so the girl stepped closer, hands hovering in case she fell again.
"I'm Day Dream by the way," the girl said softly. "I live at the farm just nearby. If you want… I can help you get there. It's safer than staying alone out here."
Her touch was gentle as she helped lift the filly. Pain flared through sore muscles, but she managed not to cry out this time. Her hands clung weakly to Day Dream's sleeve.
"Okay," Day Dream said softly. "You're doing great," Day Dream reassured, stepping closer to catch her balance when she wobbled. "One step at a time. Literally."
The humor was light, not mocking. The filly's breath steadied just a little.
...
One step at a time.
Maybe that was enough.
Breathe. Move. Keep going forward.
She stared at her legs, and felt a flicker of determination rise between the cracks of her fear.
I will learn.
I will not waste this chance.
I will not let fear steal this life.
Even if she didn't have a name yet… Even if she didn't know who she was… She had a body that moved. A life that breathed. A future that waited.
I will stand on my own someday.
I swear it.
...
Day Dream shifted to support more weight, letting the blonde filly rest against her shoulder. The countryside stretched out before them, vast fields, narrow paths, small houses scattered like seeds across the land.
"We'll head to the farm now," Day Dream said. "We'll get you water, maybe breakfast if the others already cooked."
Others.
The word felt new and warm.
"A community?" the blonde filly whispered, barely audible.
Day Dream smiled. "Yeah. Friends, neighbors… family if you stay long enough."
The concept nearly knocked her knees out more than the fall.
Day Dream paused, then asked gently:
"Can you tell me your name?"
Her heart tripped.
The old name—the one tied to hospital beds and pain—felt wrong here.
She swallowed.
Day Dream noticed the panic creeping back and quickly eased off the pressure.
"Hey… you don't have to tell me now. You can tell me once you're ready, okay?"
Relief washed over her so suddenly she nearly fell again. The girl gently caught her elbow just long enough to steady her. Step by shaky step, supported by arms that didn't let her fall, the girl with golden eyes walked, really walked, for the first time in her life.
Not far. Not fast. But forward. The wind caught her hair again. The white streaks gleamed in the sun like silver promises.
She would earn her name.
She would choose it.
And the world would hear it.
Someday.