don't leave me here alone; sid pony

[Noori]

Most days, most days stay the sole same
Please stay, for this fear it will not die
Down low, down amongst the thorn rows
Weeds grow, through the lilies and the vines

Though she has never had an easy life, these past few years have been perhaps the easiest. Five years passed her by since her return to Trekk, with many children to show just how fruitful a reunion theirs had been; twins, even, though with her disposition for them none ought to be surprised. Even with the onset of the contagion, their little family has managed to stay safe; Tylana, Tsara, Targaryen. Her little hoard of children, reminiscent of her original triplets though admittedly less chaotic considering the nature of their birth (that being the fact that they all have the same father, and are not triplets, of course). Though the threat of the plague never lessened, they thought themselves immortal.

Until one day, they realized their naivety.

The sickness latched on quickly, perhaps sensing the wood that lay beneath Noori's pristine first layer of bark - she grew old the more time she spent in this reality with Trekk, and her unequine immune system gave way without warning. In the twilight hours of her life, she and Trekk relived their happiest moments and pretended as if there were no sad ones. Her one true love held her close until the sap in her veins slowed to a stop, and he held her past that still, his body quaking as he mourned alone for the life of a goddess.

As they discussed beforehand, Trekk did not bury Noori, but instead left her where she lay with but a single flower atop the point of her shoulder, to commemorate the divinity of her being for any who passed by and saw the tree-mare slowly becoming one with nature. Gradually, over the course of weeks, her body decomposed into the earth, being overtaken by green grasses and bright flowers which had no place on this wasteland of a continent.

Months later now, Trekk has slowed his coming round to his wife's final resting place. As such, when the sound of a baby's snuffling emerges from the small mound where Noori died, no one is around to hear it. When two opalescent nostrils peak from the grasses to sneeze out a ludicrous amount of dirt, no one is there to laugh. And when four clumsy hooves kick themselves free of the earth, no one is there to witness her rebirth: to witness her first reincarnation.

Woman, Spring, Phoenix: and now, Baby. She is lucky to be Spring incarnate; she has no need for milk, and instead will be able to photosynthesize to receive the energy she needs.

In the limited understanding of her first few days, Noori wanders through forests and fields which feel familiar, though she couldn't tell you why. Each day she feels stronger and more sure of herself, with the weeks gradually passing until she begins to remember her life before. At about one or two months of age, she recalls the major points of her life, namely being raised by Scorch and Hestoni, having many children, and her that she loved someone dearly. Who, she cannot yet recall: but her heart calls for him incessantly, and she wanders in the hopes of finding one who reminds her of him.

Unfortunately, strangers are not wont to approach a tiny tree-nymph, of white bark hide and red willow-frond mane and tail. Especially dissuading are the pupil-lacking, glowing green eyes set wide in her skull, the crimson cracks running through her alabaster coat, and the deep green glow from within; and of course, let us not forget the trail of growth which follows behind the babe. Flowers, grass, saplings, and rain showers; they follow the nymph without pause, too great a power to master for the yet childlike Noori.

During one of her wanderings, the filly begins to worry that she will never be subject to the company of another for the rest of her days. Though some semblance of adult understanding now belong to the growing being, understanding their implications and properly interpreting reality are tasks which yet evade her mental abilities. As such, she skirts the edge of the river with an anxious quiet, eyes searching for something she doesn't understand; and when they fall upon the pale figure of a woman more bones than flesh, what she does understand is that she must help.

That, at least, she can do.

Thin and utterly alien, Noori realizes that her appearance may upset the prostrate mare - so she approaches slowly, though every fiber of her being wants to rush forward. To help, of course, but also for self-interested reasons; her stomach clenches and unclenches wildly at the thought of being able to converse with another, for so long has passed since she spoke to anyone but the flowers.

Close enough now that she could touch the ghostly creature, the babe swings her head low and closely studies the blood drooling lazily from the other's nostrils. Wordless for now, the child calls upon wisdom she forgot she knew to quietly grow and harvest a handful of herbs, grinding them with her mind until a small amount of poultice floats, a salve at her disposal. Nickering low in her throat to reassure her new friend that all is well, Noori carefully guides the salve to the mare's nostrils, applying it across the membranes both inside and out until the pain lessens and the bleeding ceases.

It is far from a permanent solution, but it will help her feel better for now.

"Hello," says the child, blinking abashedly and wondering where she found the courage to do as she has done. "You have pretty eyes."

noori

@[Glassheart] I wrote you a novel with a closet character. Sorry not sorry.