can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars,
I could really use a wish right now;
This isn’t home, but she wants to explore it.
She is young, only a few weeks old, and even though her parents — especially her father — were overprotective, they agreed she could visit safe lands. The lands that the plague could not touch. Her mother, eyeless but bold, had promised to show her other places besides Tephra. She had said that there was an island, where part of it was always in winter. Evenstar doesn’t know what winter is, but mother said it was the opposite of the humid weather of Tephra, and that there was something called snow.
Not allowed to go anywhere alone, Ryatah had finally relented to her daughter’s pleas, and the pair made their way for Icicle Isle.
When they arrive, wet and shivering, the jade-green filly presses easily into her mother’s side as her warm tongue dries her off, until the fur is fluffy and soft once more. Ryatah presses a kiss to her little girl’s forehead, promising to wait for her right here, and then sends her off to explore.
Evenstar turns, prancing away on spindly legs that are still far too long, churning up snow as she does so. Her dark brown eyes are wide with wonder, curious what sort of creatures make their home here — she is used to the foxes and rabbits on the mainland, the deer and the coyotes. She isn’t sure what type of animals live in icy snowdrifts.
Movement in her peripheral catches her eye, a glimmer of gold, and immediately she looks. What she sees instantly piques her interest — a small colt, around her age. He is painted and gilded, with glorious wings, but with a head unlike any she has ever seen.
She starts to move towards him, but she stops short. Doubt begins to creep into her veins, poisoning her mind and making her legs go numb. But he is so pretty, the way his gold shines in the cold sun, and fighting her fear, she walks towards him. ”Hi,” Her voice is so soft, like a warm breeze, and she isn’t even sure if the colt will look at her. She is not as fantastic as he is, though she is pretty in her own way. Her body is a brilliant jade green, with a vibrantly white mane and tail and a four-point star — like the first one to shine in the sky as evening fell — on her small forehead. She is a perfect blend of her parents, green and white, and quiet and sweet, the way her mother had been before the world ruined her. But she is not as unique as the colt before her, and she doesn’t think she will be enough.
”You’re really pretty,” She says with a shy sincerity, not realizing that boys preferred adjectives like “handsome”. He is pretty like a sunrise, or a clear, starry night — the only things that she knows to compare him to.
I'm praying that this stairway leads somewhere like Heaven's door,
and when you get there don't look down
@[Gilt]