Lost on the Way to Nowhere

The bright sunlight trickled softly into his consciousness as he was drawn out of his dreamless sleep. As his mind slowly began to whir to life once more, his eyes gently cracked open, letting the light flood into them. A very light smile graced his lips as he spent a few moments longer simply resting against the tree, neither moving nor opening his eyes any wider, so very hesitant to let the moment go.

But all moments, be they beautiful, horrible, or anywhere in between, must end, and this moment was no exception.

Drawing himself out of his dreamy state back into the realm of lucidity, he opened his eyes the rest of the way and raised his hooves up to rub them groggily. With a cat stretch and a few delectable cracks of his back, he rose up from his resting place. He took a look around him, taking in the peaceful landscape. It was almost like a scene out of a painting: the rolling hills every which way, the lovely tree beneath which he had rested, the distant treetops that poked up above the horizon in one direction—all of it contributed to the pleasant vista that made up the world around him. As wonderful as the view was, however, something felt out of place. But...

No, he thought to himself, not allowing such a vague and senseless feeling to bother him, choosing instead to admire the tranquility of his location. Everything is fine.

After spending a few minutes loitering and admiring his surroundings, he brought his attention back to his saddlebags, which were laid up against the base of the tree, right where he had set them.

Of course, that must have been where he had set them, because that's where they were now. Right?

Eyeballing them for a moment, he trotted over and opened one of the pouches with his magic, reaching in and pulling out what he assumed to be his canteen, raising it to his lips to take a sip.

Only rather than a canteen, he instead found a pair of binoculars pushed up to his lips. Wrong pouch. Sliding the binoculars back into their pouch, he shook off his grogginess and reached into the pouch he knew was the right one.

Except that wasn't the right one either, which he realized as he found a broken compass. Why's this thing broken, anyway? he thought, before dismissing the inquiry for the time being, much more concerned with his struggle to find the canteen.

Why can't I remember where I put this thing?

He found himself digging through the remainder of the pockets on his saddlebags, becoming more and more frustrated with each pouch that failed to yield his goal. I have to have a canteen, right? I mean, I'm out in the wilderness and how else have I been keeping hydrated? A moment after this reflection, he stopped in the middle of searching one of the pouches, the strange feeling he brushed aside earlier back once more, and growing in intensity with each passing second.

How did he not know whether he had a canteen? And did he even know if these saddlebags were his?

Sitting down on his rump beside the saddlebags, the strange feeling turned to one of unsettling discomfort, his expression of perplexity shifting to a wide-eyed look of worry as his surroundings suddenly felt much more alien than they were only moments ago.

I need to retrace my steps, he thought, chewing on his lip as he shifted uneasily where he sat. So yesterday, I came to this tree, but before that I...

The gears in his head turned for a moment as he dug as hard as he could. Do I even remember coming here? Do I remember anything before that? Do I remember where I was going? Behind all these questions, one unavoidable and unnerving question lurked, and it was only so long before he found himself forced to confront it. Perhaps some subconscious part of his mind had realized it well enough to instill a creeping sensation of wrongness in his psyche from the moment he had woken up.

Could he remember anything?

It was a question that invoked a sudden sense of nausea not too unlike that of vertigo, causing his head to spin. He felt a pressing need for oxygen overwhelm him.

No, he couldn't panic. Panicking would solve nothing. He had to think. Surely, there was a reason for his memory difficulties. Collecting himself, he turned his focus inward, prodding at his mind for answers. What do I remember? Surely, something must be there. He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing, putting every ounce of his consciousness to work in his struggle to recall anything.

It was as though he were trying to turn back a page when he was already at the front cover of a book: there was a void that indicated that the whole of his life began on this afternoon, that he did not exist a year, a month, a week, or even a day earlier. But that was utterly unreasonable. One could not simply pop into existence as an adult, sitting beneath the branches of a tree, sleeping the day away; although many things were muddled in his mind, that fact was indisputable.

As he sat there in his incredulity, head held in his hooves, he soon remembered why he was looking for his canteen to begin with. His mouth was dry and sticky, and it occurred to him that he might have been a while since he had a drink—not that he could remember, but his body very clearly demanded water, sooner rather than later. Reaching into the last unsearched pocket of what he assumed to be his saddlebags with his telekinesis, he pulled out a sizeable canteen that was about halfway to the top. Without wasting another second, he unfastened the cap and pressed it desperately to his lips, chugging most of the water without taking a breath. He pulled the canteen away from his lips with a refreshed sigh, opening up the pocket from which he took it. Maybe I'll remember where it is next time, he mused, cracking a nervous smile.

He lifted up the canteen to return it to its original spot once again, but as his eyes combed over the saddlebags, a small piece of text sewn onto the side caught his eye. Inscribed were two words: OCEAN BREEZE. That must be... my name?

His own name sounded not the least bit familiar. Or perhaps it wasn't even his own name—what if the saddlebags were a family heirloom? Or perhaps he had borrowed them from a friend. He didn't know, and his ignorance of such a basic element of his past enticed a feeling of deep disquietude. What else don't I remember about myself?

Pausing to think for a moment, he turned his head to look behind him, setting his gaze on his flank, noting the sea blue color of his coat. On it, although awkward to examine without any sort of mirror, was the crest of a wave with a gust of wind blowing overhead. Maybe I'm some sort of sailor? Though that wouldn't make much sense. Doesn't look like there's a drop of ocean for miles around.

He took another look over at his saddlebags, considering the fact that he hadn't noticed a single piece of food in any of the pockets he had checked. His stomach echoed his concern, rumbling discontentedly. Taking one more look around him, he gave a sigh, scanning the horizon. Although he hadn't a clue where to go, staying there wasn't an option. I guess there's no risk of getting lost when I don't have a clue where I'm going, he thought, though the idea did little to relieve his unease.

He turned to the distant forest marked by trees on the horizon. After weighing it in his mind for a few moments, he decided that it was best to head toward something, even if it was as mundane as a forest, given how few landmarks he had to use. Grabbing his saddlebags and setting them on his back, he took a deep breath, and then he took his first step into the unknown.