dreamer, every time you stargaze the whole world is lying at your feet
She walks as if she knows where she is going, but she doesn’t really, except for ‘away from here’. The gaggle of foals and their shrieks of delight fade behind her as she departs from the large group she had been conversing with, and the space she had been standing in is almost instantly filled with more filly (not that it bothers her). She breathes a sigh of relief, each lungful of air a little easier to pass with the more distance between them all. It’s when she meets the edge of the grass where grass becomes bramble and root that she finally takes a moment to pause.
To breathe, really, and gather her thoughts. She chided herself for being so silly and essentially running away (although she hadn’t been running, she had been walking slowly, purposefully, as if filled with an ocean’s worth of confidence about her decision to leave them all). Was she being unreasonable? Silly? Weak? No, she decides, she is none of those things. There were a lot of them, and she refused to fight for attention. If they wanted to spend their afternoon shrieking the delights of butterflies, overflowing with energy and too quick to have a proper conversation, then so be it. She decides the decision to leave them all had been a good one, and next time she wouldn’t let her heart feel fluttery and nervous as if scared of what they might think. No, she would be strong, like the sequoias of the Taiga, steadfast, confident in their being.
She refused to feel this foolish, this light-headed, again.
And with that, she makes a decision to feel happy once more. No use lingering on it all. Move on. Move forward. The metal and cream filly springs lightly into the thick bushes, thorns snagging in her tail and pulling at her babyfluff but she pays no mind, pressing onwards through the wall of brambles and tangled branches, pushing through the nettles and the burdocks, the cabbage-plants and the golden-saxifrage, her sensitive nose filled with a myriad of scents. She is nowhere near silent; crashing through the foliage like some kind of injured rabbit.
She pauses, her nose quivering as the scent of equine, nearby, fills her nose. Her light applegreen eyes narrow a little and she finally manages to pick out the figure of a small, laying-down colt, dark green against the dark green, though with peculiar patches of light purple which save him from being entirely invisible.
She watches him quietly, as if to make sure that no others are about to approach. There’s another butterfly fluttering about, almost beneath the colt’s nose before he lunges at it, missing it entirely, induced in a sort of rage.
The metal-and-cream filly steps forward, as if out of the gloom (although it must be impossible for the colt to have not noticed her before; she had not exactly been any type of quiet in her approach). But now she announces her willingness to engage him, and not just watch him from the distance.
She stands by him for a long moment, watching him, wondering whether others will come bursting through at any moment.
”Butterflies are pointless.” she says, shaking her head, with a note of bitterness in her voice (bitter that the butterflies had led her into a situation where she had felt unwelcome, uncomfortable, unhappy). But, regardless, a smile ignites her whiskered lips, and her light applegreen eyes are aglow with enthusiasm once more.
”But rabbits…! Rabbits are fun to hunt!” she almost bounces on the spot, but refrains – wanting to keep her energy for the chase. ”You should hunt with me. You seem better at it than those other foals.” she tosses her head in the direction of the foal-gathering with a snort, a grin never leaving her face (even if she felt that it might take a while to recover from the shock of having so many foals appear at once).
And there was nothing like a good hunt to bolster your mood, and appease your appetite, after all!
