01-28-2017, 09:16 PM
She is not one of them. This land was wrought with history, she felt it vibrating from the rain-soaked ground as she walked. Something hung in the air, like a suffocating fog. Something drastic had happened here, a change. But she is not part of it. She can’t even remember how she got here, a huge chunk of her memory a black void. On a beach she had awoken, the edges of the waves lapping at her crumpled form. Washed ashore like a battered piece of driftwood, she had blinked the gritty sand away with bleary eyes. This place was not home. And even though she knew she would be weak on her own, without the protection of a herd, she had climbed to water-weary feet, her eyes on the treeline that sprouted away from the coast.
She had been walking through the forest for some time now, and even though she had yet to come across another horse there were signs of them everywhere. A well-worn path was winding amongst the trees, and every now and then she would see a tendril of mane or tail clinging haphazardly to the brush. Her steps were cautious, peering around from behind the curtain of black forelock to check her surroundings. It was difficult to be quiet, but she was being mindful of her steps, keeping them light against the damp ground. The air was cool, but through the tops of the trees she could see the sun trying to strain through. It had to be afternoon, if she were to guess.
Gradually, the trees begin to thin. She thrusts her body up the slight incline, her small ears flicking forward to catch the voices that carried across the breeze. She ascends to the top of the knoll, and from there she can see the full expanse of the field that stretches before her, a carpet of emerald green sprinkled with way too many horses. It had been far too long since she had last interacted with anyone, and she could not help but notice the pattern taking place. There were mares, but they were surrounded. All of them seemed to be being coerced into something, and already there was a bitter taste forming in her mouth.
She still wasn't sure what kind of land she had washed up on, and as she carefully began to back away towards the treeline, she wasn't sure she wanted to find out.
fyi I am very slow poster, I don't really have the privacy to post, so I will post when I can!
She had been walking through the forest for some time now, and even though she had yet to come across another horse there were signs of them everywhere. A well-worn path was winding amongst the trees, and every now and then she would see a tendril of mane or tail clinging haphazardly to the brush. Her steps were cautious, peering around from behind the curtain of black forelock to check her surroundings. It was difficult to be quiet, but she was being mindful of her steps, keeping them light against the damp ground. The air was cool, but through the tops of the trees she could see the sun trying to strain through. It had to be afternoon, if she were to guess.
Gradually, the trees begin to thin. She thrusts her body up the slight incline, her small ears flicking forward to catch the voices that carried across the breeze. She ascends to the top of the knoll, and from there she can see the full expanse of the field that stretches before her, a carpet of emerald green sprinkled with way too many horses. It had been far too long since she had last interacted with anyone, and she could not help but notice the pattern taking place. There were mares, but they were surrounded. All of them seemed to be being coerced into something, and already there was a bitter taste forming in her mouth.
She still wasn't sure what kind of land she had washed up on, and as she carefully began to back away towards the treeline, she wasn't sure she wanted to find out.
briseis.
you’re ripped at every edge but you’re a masterpiece
you’re ripped at every edge but you’re a masterpiece
fyi I am very slow poster, I don't really have the privacy to post, so I will post when I can!