[ BONUS PROMPT #2 ] Alone in Company

She is alone.

She is alone. Twist had been right there, she only looked away for a few moments when the human had brought her a biscuit of lucerne, because Twist is always right there at the rails opposite her when she looks up and where is Twist? Where is he?

Yara whinnies, frantic, and kicks up loose sand as she abandons her meal and explodes into a trot, nose thrown over the railing.

Where is he?

Patrolling up and down the length of the yard rails produces no results, and she grows more anxious with every beat of her heart, every solid thud of her hooves in the sand she's packed down in the days since her arrival. She hears a snort, somewhere, and calls out again. Is he nearby? He must be. Why can't she see him? 

A heavy sound reaches her ears, sharp like metal, and her head snaps toward it, ears pricked for a moment before they continue to swivel. It's- well, it's not Twist, but it is the dark-haired human whose smell she's come to recognise as most familiar. There are a few others, but this one she knows best. They're letting themself out of the shelter in Twist's empty yard, but Twist doesn't appear with them, so Yara continues her pacing. She even breaks away from the railing to canter a nervous loop around the whole yard, head high and searching.

"Yara."

He's not here.

"Yara," comes her name again, the syllables drawn out slow. She looks over to the source of the sound.

The human—her human, yes—is at the railing, by her food. They've sat there almost every evening, ankles hooked under the lowest rail, watching her as she eats. In one of their hands is a familiar bucket; the hard feed that hadn't appeared with her lucerne, maybe. She doesn't want food, she wants Twist.

She does another loop; calls out, gets no response.

She's alone. 

Well. 

Her hooves carry her, snorting and shivering, back to the rails. Over to the human. Her human. She doesn't bother to investigate the bucket, but she does drop her nose to bump over the human's knee, and huffs nervously at the hand she's offered. They smell of horses, many horses, scents she doesn't recognise, and they smell of Twist, but he's not here so that isn't helpful.

The human's voice is soft as they speak to her. They seem calm.

It is the calm that she returns to, over and over again, when a new lap of the yard and another screaming whinny turns up no trace of Twist. It is the calm that she allows herself to tremble alongside as she fretfully steals a mouthful, then two, then more of her meal, until the shaking subsides and she finds that she feels safer standing and eating in company, rather than searching alone. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they are silent. They don't join her in calling for Twist. Occasionally she presses her nose into their skin, or their fingers scratch at her withers, bleeding comfort through her spine. The familiar itching sensation of drying sweat never encroaches upon her—she hadn't managed to work herself up for long enough to begin sweating properly—but the grooming action continues whenever she lets herself within touching distance.

Twist isn't here, her friend isn't here, but the human is, and she supposes they're a friend, too. 

It is well past dark when Twist returns unharmed and apparently unbothered by his own disappearing act, and with no food left to eat—not even in the bucket, which the human had held onto the whole while—Yara finds herself watching not the gelding, but the smudge of the human's silhouette as they retreat into the night. Panic doesn't drive her hooves to movement, but it is the first time she has paid attention to the human leaving. They'll be back in the morning.

Yara sighs, shakes herself out. They'll be back in the morning.

All is well.