The walk to the farm had drained every bit of strength she thought she had gained. By the time Day Dream eased her onto the narrow bed inside the small wooden room, the filly's legs vibrated like branches struggling against a strong wind. Her chest rose and fell too quickly, breaths rolling uneven and unsteady.
Day Dream fetched a cup of water and held it out. "Small sips," she reminded.
The filly obeyed. The water was cool, tasting faintly of minerals and sunlight filtered through wooden pipes. It wasn't the sterile metallic sting she remembered from hospital taps. Each swallow felt like it mattered like the body she inhabited actually needed it.
Day Dream waited until the trembling subsided before speaking again.
"You moved well for someone who's been… through a lot."
She didn't ask questions she knew wouldn't be answered. Instead, she kept her tone light.
"We'll go slow today. Okay?"
The filly nodded. Her voice was hiding again, but the nod was enough.
Day Dream stepped away to open the window. Cool morning air slipped inside, carrying the scent of dew-wet grass and something warm from the nearby kitchen possibly miso or simmering rice. The filly lifted her head slightly, nose twitching. Her ears still strange to her swiveled forward unconsciously, too expressive for comfort. She flinched and pressed them flat again.
Day Dream pretended not to notice. "You're safe here," she said simply.
The filly looked down at her hands, hands that weren't fully human, with a hint of sturdiness that hinted at hooves beneath the surface. Stronger than the frail fingers she used to have… but still clumsy. Still learning.
She flexed them slowly. The knuckles cracked.
A reminder: this body was real.
Day Dream rummaged inside a small wooden drawer and pulled out a cloth. She approached the filly carefully.
"May I clean your face?"
A moment's hesitation.
Then a soft nod.
Day Dream dabbed gently at the dirt streaks left from the fall. Her touch was professional, but kind—carefully avoiding the scrapes on the filly's cheek.
"You're a fighter," she murmured.
The filly's chest tightened. She didn't want to be called that anymore. Fighting had been all she ever did before, and it brought nothing but exhaustion.
Still… she breathed through the discomfort.
Day Dream finished wiping her skin and stepped back.
"Better," she said with a small smile. "If you're up for it later, we'll take another walk. Not far. Just enough for your muscles to remember what they're meant to do."
The filly swallowed and dared a question.
"Will… will I be able to run?"
Day Dream blinked. Then she smiled—not a dismissive smile, not cruel optimism. Something confident. Steady.
"Every Uma Musume can run," she said. "It's in our blood. In our heart. And yours is… strong."
The filly let her gaze drift to the window, where sunlight painted soft shapes on the floor. Her heartbeat steadied slowly under that warmth.
The morning passed with slow exercises—standing, shifting weight, small steps. Day Dream guided her through each movement with calm instructions. No judgment. No frustration. Only patience earned through experience.
"Adjust your footing a little. Yes. Let the heel make contact first… there you go."
Her legs occasionally buckled, but Day Dream never let her hit the floor again. When they returned to sitting, Day Dream evaluated the bandages.
"We'll change these tonight. They're healing well."
The filly traced the edges of the wrappings with cautious fingers. Every part of her still felt like an unfamiliar gift. A borrowed blessing she hadn't earned. Day Dream noticed. But did not pry. Later, she brought a small plate of rice and eggs. The filly leaned forward too quickly and winced from the sudden stretch of her ribs.
"Easy," Day Dream reminded.
The filly took slower bites. She tasted salt and warmth, the faint crisp of browned edges. Day Dream leaned against the counter, arms crossed.
"I'll take you outside again after you rest. Maybe show you the yard. The others are busy this morning, so you won't be crowded."
Others.
She still wasn't sure how she fit into that word.
"What… what do I do here?" the filly asked.
Day Dream's eyes widened slightly—surprised to hear her initiate conversation.
"For now? Heal," she replied. "Learn your body. Build your strength. The world outside that door is big, and it expects a lot from us."
The filly chewed slowly, thinking.
"What if… I'm not good at what it expects?"
Day Dream tilted her head. "Then we'll find what you want instead."
The filly stared at her plate. That felt like a luxury she never had before—choosing her future instead of being trapped in a failing body with no options.
Day Dream continued: "And if running becomes your dream… then I'll help you run." Her voice held no doubt.
The filly didn't know how to respond. Instead, she focused on finishing each bite, making sure none of the food went to waste.
After a long break, Day Dream helped her stand again. This time, she let the filly lead. Her steps were timid but more coordinated than before. Her tail swayed clumsily and she tried not to think about it.
Outside, a light breeze brushed against her skin. The sensation still startled her—wind touching her everywhere after years of sterile stillness.
Day Dream observed quietly. "Your ears moved earlier," she commented.
The filly stiffened.
"They're… hard to control," the filly admitted.
"They'll listen to your heart before they listen to your mind," Day Dream said. "It's normal."
The filly took a few more steps, and Day Dream walked beside her, not holding her up, simply being there.
They reached a wooden fence. The filly laid a hand on it, grounding herself, and looked out at a wide field of grass that shimmered like green silk under the sun.
Day Dream broke the quiet gently:
"Do you want to rest here for a bit?"
The filly nodded, grateful for the chance to simply look… to simply exist.
The filly rested against the fence, letting the sun warm her coat. She didn't understand why this new body reacted so strongly to such simple things, the feel of wind brushing her legs, the tiny shivers of grass beneath her hooves, the glow of sunlight along her arms. Everything felt… amplified. Like her senses had a purpose now.
Day Dream watched the tension slowly drain from her shoulders.
"You're getting used to the air," she said, tone light but pleased.
The filly blinked at the remark. Air was supposed to be invisible, just something humans breathed without noticing. But here? She could smell the field, taste it almost. It carried hints of soil and clover and distant water. It made her nose twitch again, leaving her embarrassed.
Day Dream only smiled at the reaction. "Happens to everyone their first days awake here. Your senses are adjusting."
The filly looked down the long spread of pasture. The grass swayed like it was breathing along with the earth. So much open space… more than she could ever run across.
If she ever ran.
Her fingers curled around the fence rail. Day Dream spoke gently:
"We don't have to push farther today. Just say the word if you need to go in."
The filly hesitated. Her legs still tingled, fatigue pulsing in waves, but there was something inside her insisting she try a little more. Not much. Just…
"Can we walk… to there?" she asked, pointing a short distance toward a patch of flowers scattered near a small stone.
Day Dream nodded immediately. No disbelief. No warning. Just support.
"Of course. We'll go together."
The filly took a breath and lifted her weight off the fence. Her knees wobbled but did not collapse. She placed one step forward, then another. Each movement felt like rediscovering balance—an unsteady dance between fear and hope.
Day Dream matched her pace, a steady quiet presence to her left.
"Let your steps roll naturally," she coached. "Toe to heel, don't brace too hard."
The filly adjusted, and for three strides, she moved smoothly. Then her back hoof clipped her front slightly and she stumbled forward.
Day Dream caught her elbow—not enough to stop her motion, but enough to protect her pride.
"You corrected yourself," Day Dream said, approval warm in her voice. "That's good. That means your body remembers how to move."
The filly didn't answer right away. She was too busy focusing on breathing through the tiny spike of panic. But she did continue walking. Gentle determination replaced the fear.
They reached the patch of flowers.
Small, delicate blossoms in shades of soft pink and white trembled in the breeze. The filly crouched slowly, careful not to fall—and brushed her fingers over a petal.
It felt like velvet. Fragile. Alive.
She couldn't remember the last time she touched something gently without a machine or a needle being involved.
"Do you know what kind they are?" she whispered.
Day Dream crouched beside her.
"Primroses," she replied. "They're early bloomers. Even when winter tries to linger, they find a way to grow."
The filly looked at them a long moment. Something in that description lodged itself quietly in her chest.
Early bloomers.
Growing anyway.
She swallowed.
A soft rustle reached her ears. They twitched instinctively toward the sound before she even noticed she had heard it. She startled at the reflex, fingertips lifting to her ears like she needed proof they existed.
Day Dream observed with a patient smile.
"You'll learn to trust them," she said. "They'll warn you, help you. Your ears and your legs… they've always been part of you. You're just meeting them properly now."
The filly wasn't sure how to respond. Compliments or encouragement always felt undeserved—like she was the wrong person to receive them. But here, the words didn't feel heavy. They felt like seeds.
Quiet potential.
A light breeze brushed their hair. The filly let her gaze wander past the flowers to the far edge of the farm. She could faintly see shapes—maybe buildings? Other horses? A world that was too large for her… at least today.
Day Dream stood slowly.
"We'll head back before your legs complain," she said. "Let's keep this a good day."
A good day.
The filly tried to remember the last time she had one of those.
She rose carefully. Her knees trembled harder this time. Day Dream shifted closer, ready if needed, but the filly steadied herself with a determined breath.
Small. Steady.
Each step returning to the house was a little heavier than the ones that led away from it. Muscles quivered. Her lungs felt tight. Her heartbeat fluttered like a nervous bird.
But she walked the entire way without falling.
Day Dream opened the door for her, and the filly managed a small nod of gratitude before collapsing softly onto the bed. Not from failure. From effort.
"You did more than enough," Day Dream said as she draped a thin blanket over her legs. "Your body is tired because it worked. That's how we build strength."
The filly stared at her hands, flexing them again. They shook, but not from fear this time.
"It feels…" she searched for the word, "…real."
Day Dream's smile gentled.
"It is real. And it's yours."
The words warmed her more than the sunlight had.
As Day Dream stepped away to prepare fresh water, the filly let her head rest against the wooden wall. Her eyes drifted closed.