The first thing she noticed was warmth.
Not the sterile heat of a hospital blanket, but the soft kind — from sunlight filtering through a thin curtain. It brushed gently across her face, warming her cheeks. She blinked a few times, adjusting to the brightness. No monitors, no beeping machines, no tubes taped to her skin. Just the cozy, wooden room and the faint smell of hay. She stretched carefully, testing her balance before fully sitting up.
Her ears flicked at the sound of quiet humming. Day Dream soon pushed the door open with her usual bright presence.
"You're up," Day Dream said, glancing back with a smile. "Didn't think I'd need to wake you today."
The filly rubbed her eyes, realizing she wasn't sore in the same way she used to be. Her muscles ached, yes — but it was the good kind of ache. The earned kind.
"I slept better," she said, only slightly raspy. "Without having to worry if I'd… wake up again." the filly softly whispered, brushing some strands of hair from her face.
Day Dream paused for a moment — not awkward, just thoughtful.
"You earned that sleep," Day Dream said, placing a tray on the table. "But being eager is even better."
Breakfast was simple—rice, vegetables, and miso soup. They ate slowly, and conversation drifted to small things: how the chickens kept sneaking into the carrot rows, how the weather might hold for the week. It felt normal, and that normality alone loosened something deep inside the filly's chest.
"You'll need energy."
"For… walking?" the filly asked, half-joking.
"For learning," Day Dream corrected.
There was no pressure in her voice. Just a clear path forward.
After cleaning up, Day Dream wrapped a fresh bandage around the filly's ribs and checked her balance before they stepped outside. The ground was still cool, dew clinging to the grass, but the sun promised warmth soon.
Day Dream clapped her hands lightly. "Let's go. Little by little."
Outside, the ground still carried a thin layer of dew. It made the dirt sparkle when the sun hit it just right. The filly stared at the familiar path where she practiced yesterday. It was only a short stretch… yet now it looked like a challenge she could face with more confidence.
"Same as before?" the filly asked.
"A little more," Day Dream said, then lightly tapped her shoulder. "Reach that marker post. But today, we'll try to keep the pace steady. No rushing, no sudden stops."
"Okay," the filly said, more sure of the word than she expected.
The filly breathed in through her nose, focusing on the feel of her hooves in the dirt. Step. Shift. Step. Her balance wobbled, but she corrected. The earth supported her weight; the breeze brushed her skin like encouragement.
Day Dream occasionally offered quiet guidance:
"Relax your shoulders.""Don't look at your feet — trust them.""Good. That's it."
Halfway to the post, her legs began to tire. The old instinct told her to freeze… to protect herself. She exhaled instead, rolled her weight forward, and continued. When she reached the post this time, she didn't bend over in exhaustion. She just stopped, breathed once, and smiled.
"That looked smoother," Day Dream said, smiling back. "How do you feel?"
"A bit shaky," the filly admitted, "but… proud, I guess?"
"That's a great feeling to have."
They tried another round—not farther, just cleaner. The filly felt each improvement, tiny but clear. Her body was learning, remembering. It all added up.
After a short break sitting on the fence, Day Dream turned her gaze toward the wider field.
"Let's walk that way tomorrow," she said. "If you're ready."
The filly followed her eyes. The open space seemed huge—far bigger than the path she'd mastered today. But instead of fear, she felt a quiet excitement.
"I want to try," she said. "Maybe not tomorrow… but soon."
"That's fair," Day Dream replied. "You decide the pace. I'm just here to help."
They spent the afternoon doing light stretches and a bit of balancing practice—nothing impressive, just enough to get the filly familiar with her own movements. When she stumbled, she didn't panic. Day Dream always gave the same calm nod, like every attempt was just another step forward.
By sunset, the filly was tired, but not the kind of tired that scared her. It was a good kind. Earned.
Back inside, Day Dream poured two cups of tea and handed one over. The filly wrapped her hands around the warm porcelain, letting her trembling fingers settle.
"You learn fast," Day Dream said casually as she leaned on the table. "You've got talent buried in there somewhere."
The filly tilted her head. "Talent? In what?"
Day Dream's tail flicked once, amused. "We'll see."
It wasn't teasing. It sounded like a promise.
There was a small silence, but not the uncomfortable kind — the kind that let breathing feel calmer. The filly sipped her tea, eyes drifting to the window. From here, she could see the edge of the fields. She wanted to go farther. Curiosity tugged like a gentle hand.
Day Dream noticed the look and bumped her shoulder lightly.
"Hey. One day at a time. Today we did more than yesterday. That's enough."
"I know…" she murmured. "It's just hard to slow down when everything feels so… new."
Day Dream smiled knowingly. "Then we'll make sure you have something new every day."
The filly looked down at her tea as warmth filled her chest again — kind, simple warmth she still didn't know how to handle. But she didn't push it away.
The tea's steam faded slowly, the warmth settling into her hands. Day Dream finished her cup first and stood to gather the dishes. The filly instinctively tried to help, reaching for the tray — but her fingers fumbled, and she almost knocked her cup over.
Day Dream steadied it right before it tipped. "Woah. Careful."
The filly withdrew her hand, embarrassed. "Sorry…"
Day Dream shook her head gently. "Don't apologize for wanting to help. That's a good habit."
After cleaning up, Day Dream headed outside to check on the animals before night fully arrived. The filly followed at a slower pace, steadying herself on the doorframe first. The sky was still fading from day to night, brushing the horizon with gentle oranges and purples.
The farm sounded alive in a way hospitals never could. Sheep bleated lazily in the distance, chickens fluttered as they found their roosts, and the soft clinks of metal tools echoed from somewhere near the barn.
Day Dream stretched, glancing up. "Nights are nice here," she said. "Quiet. You'll get to like them."
The filly nodded and stepped down the small wooden step carefully. The earth met her hooves with a comforting firmness. She steadied herself, taking in the cool evening air that brushed her skin like gentle fingers.
Glancing at her, Day Dream whispered beneath her breathe. "Probably should give her some new shoes. I'll just hammer in some new cleats on it."
The filly's eyes lifted to the sky… and she froze.
The stars were coming out.
In the hospital, she'd only ever seen the night through thick glass — filtered, dulled, artificial. But here, the sky was endless. A deep ocean of darkness with tiny fires blooming into view.
Her lips parted slightly, ears leaned forward, fully captured by the sight.
Day Dream noticed the expression and followed her gaze with a hum. "Beautiful, right? Sometimes I forget people who grew up… somewhere else… don't get to see this often."
"It feels like it goes on forever," the filly whispered.
"That's because it sort of does," Day Dream said, settling against a fence rail. "You'll learn to like nights here. They're peaceful — they let your heart breathe a bit easier."
The filly took another step forward, stretching her head back as far as she could without losing balance. The moon hung above — bright and round, like a guardian watching from above the fields.
She didn't even realize her eyes were watering until she blinked them away quickly.
"It's…" Words slipped away for a moment. "It's real."
Day Dream leaned against the fence, her expression softening. "You get that look a lot."
"What look?"
"The 'is-this-allowed' look," Day Dream said, tapping the side of her own cheek. "Like you're afraid someone will take it away."
The filly looked down, trying to hide the evidence of that emotion. But Day Dream didn't push.
"Come on," Day Dream said, "there's something else I wanna show you before bedtime."
Inside the barn, Day Dream dusted off a small, old television and fiddled with the cords. A little static crackled before the picture finally came into focus. The filly leaned one hand against the wooden crate beside her for support, eyes curious.
A racing track filled the screen — bright gates, powerful legs stamping the dirt, the roar of a crowd swelling.
A race.
Day Dream set her hands on her hips, a proud grin forming. "This one's a replay of one of Japan's greatest races. And one of the greatest japanese Uma Musume to be born."
The filly blinked. "Greatest?"
"Symboli Rudolf," Day Dream declared. "The Emperor."
The moment the camera found Rudolf among the pack — the filly felt her breath hitch.
Rudolf didn't take the lead immediately. She held back — calm, patient, saving strength. Her hair whipped behind her like a war banner. Every stride looked measured, smart. She wasn't running wildly…
She was ruling.
The filly leaned closer, heart pounding with the rhythm of hooves. turf kicked high behind the pack but Rudolf remained clean.
Then the final turn came.
Rudolf stepped out of the crowd.
Her speed skyrocketed. Her body lowered, powerful muscles firing like pistons. Every stride pushed her beyond the others — claiming space, claiming the track.
Claiming victory.
The filly's hand pressed against her chest.
A heat sparked inside — quiet at first, then spreading like flame licking into her veins. She didn't understand it completely, but she recognized it:
Longing.
"I want…" she whispered — but the rest never escaped her lips.
Day Dream didn't need to hear the rest. She saw it in the filly's eyes.
"She makes it look easy," Day Dream said with admiration. "But it's not. It's years of work.."
The filly swallowed. The fire inside her didn't hurt. It excited her. It dared her.
"…Do you think I could ever move like her?" she asked, voice tiny but brave.
Day Dream turned fully to face her, arms crossing thoughtfully as she looked her over — not judging, but recognizing potential the filly couldn't see yet.
"Maybe not tomorrow," Day Dream said. "Or next month. But someday?" Her tail swayed with certainty. "Yes. I truly think you could."
Day Dream reached out and gently flicked a strand of the filly's hair. "But first — we need a name. Calling you 'hey you' is gonna get confusing when the chickens start listening."
"A… name?" the filly echoed.
"Yes. You deserve one," Day Dream insisted. "A proper Uma Musume name."
The filly looked at her hands — hands still unsteady, unfamiliar, uncertain. "I don't know any names that… fit me."
Day Dream tapped her chin, thinking. Then, confidently:
"Bradamante."
The filly repeated the unfamiliar word slowly, carefully. "Brada…mante."
"It's from an old tale," Day Dream explained. "A warrior girl. Brave. Strong. The type who never backs down once she decides her path." She paused, "I would've picked something related to Japan but she doesn't look.. Eh it doesn't matter."
"That sounds too big for someone like me…"
"Then grow into it," Day Dream interrupted gently shaking her head. "Names are goals you chase. And I think you can chase that one."
Bradamante.
The name wrapped around her like a cloak — too large for now… but warm.
"…Thank you," Bradamante whispered, voice trembling in a way she hoped Day Dream didn't notice.
Day Dream only smiled wider. "Get ready. I'll be yelling 'Bradamante!' a lot during training."
A soft giggle escaped — Bradamante startled herself with the sound.
The race ended on screen, but the feeling inside her didn't fade. It lived — loud and hopeful.
Day Dream shut off the TV and stretched, rolling her shoulders.
"Alright, Bradamante," she said, saying the name like she had been waiting for it, "let's get you to bed before you try racing the sheep."
Bradamante stood — perhaps too eagerly. Her knees wobbled, nearly sending her back down, but Day Dream caught her just in time.
"Easy," Day Dream chuckled. "You're already excited, aren't you?"
"Maybe… a little," Bradamante admitted shyly.
They reached the small wooden room. Bradamante stepped halfway inside, but something tugged her backward — a question heavy in her chest.
She turned.
Day Dream looked at her expectantly.
Bradamante's voice was soft. Sounding afraid, but she had to know.
"Why are you helping me this much?"
Day Dream's expression softened in a way Bradamante had never seen — warmth and truth mixing behind her eyes.
Bradamante waited…