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          Isuara walked out of the room. Her footsteps traced a long, carpeted corridor that eventually led to the decadent splendour of a once beautiful garden.

          The ethereal fog that shrouded the garden seemed to have stagnated along with everything else she laid here eyes upon and the wind, if present, failed to ruffle the fire that was her hair. “What ever happened to the soothing breeze of my past?” she pondered aloud. Had the ghastly tragedy managed to affect that as well?

          Isuara let her thoughts stray as she stepped off the narrow cobbled path that led to her father’s stable. Ah.. sweet nostalgia! How her diminutive feet pounded the cobblestones, wetted by a fresh onslaught of rain, as she ran breathlessly to her destination – the stable, which sheltered Father’s most prized possession! Gale, was the Spanish Mustang’s name and it suited him well. She recalled Father telling her of Spanish Mustangs. Had he not said that they had had a profound influence on many breeds? Had he not said that the Spanish Mustangs still retained those qualities that allowed the Spaniards to conquer a new world? Were they not his exact words? How she wished she could sit on his lap once more, in their private library, and hear all about various breeds of horses!

          Gale had been the blackest of black horses Isuara had ever seen. Being the daughter of a rich merchant, she had been bestowed with all the luxuries that a girl of such parentage could possess at the time. However, she had one restriction upon her. Father had warned his naughty little girl to keep clear of Gale, for he was renowned for his ferocity as much as he was for his majestic beauty, stamina and toughness. Father never did discover the unbreakable bond that had been forged between Isuara and Gale, during all those times when she had disobeyed him and managed to sneak inside the stable to groom the stallion. Gale was not ferocious, really, but rather sensitive to Isuara’s gentle touches and caresses, as she was to the loving nudges of his wet nose.

          Isuara’s confident steps had led her down a path that was all too familiar, a path that led to her old companion and secret keeper,  a path that her feet would find on their own, no matter how dense the undergrowth or how much the garden had changed over the years. Demetrius. That’s what she had christened him. Even after all these years, he stood tall and proud, the same manner in which he always had. Isuara knew that no axe, fire or hurricane could destroy this special tree – her rain tree.  He was a great, old tree that exuded wisdom and kindly patience. He had remained standing though every branch of her family tree had been felled. Father, Mother and her three darling brothers had long since perished, leaving only two souls behind to bear witness to their presence upon this earth.

          “Demetrius!” she murmured as she expertly perched herself on one of his lower branches. Ah! The long forgotten breeze and the rustling of leaves – his way of welcoming the little blossom that had returned to him after all these years.

          Isuara still remembered the lines of worry that had creased Mother’s forehead when she revealed to her one day that Demetrius spoke to her. “My darling,” Mother had said while pushing the red hair out of her youngest daughter’s eyes, “When will you stop living in this fantasy world of yours where trees speak and the wind dances with you?”

          Isuara...

          She looked up at Demetrius and listened intently.

          My precious one, I am deeply sorry.

          Silence.

          I could not prevent the terrible fate that befell them.

          A single tear dropped down from Isuara’s eye as it fell to the ground below – a requiem for her dearest ones.

          Isuara... it was inevitable, but I am glad that you are safe.

          A gentle breeze dried her moist eyes.

          Go now, my love. Beware the fall of darkness.

          With a wordless goodbye, Isuara vanished into the swirling mists that engulfed her as though she was one of their own.