MIDSOMMAR
She is a strange creature. Long, lithe, graceful in her flash of blonde and red. Her movements come from watching the elegant legs of a maned wolf and her father's own height. Mix those with the delicate beauty of her mother and - Midsommar is strange and striking.
Boring, too, though. Amongst the many colors and extra limbs and wild magic, the chestnut filly appears so terribly nondescript. But come close, or observe for just a little bit, and one will see the odd way she draws the eye - the rise of her head, slope of her neck, and limbs that almost seem as if they're floating.
And at her side, stands that terrible, bewildering creature.
"Malachai," Sommar says, ending her smooth trot and leaning against a tree. The wolf looks up at her (he has to now, as the filly just continues to grow).
Yes, he says.
"Do you ever grow tired of our exploration?" she asks.
No, the wolf answers, simple and short.
"Interesting," the filly murmurs, then jumps back into her practiced trot.
Ahead, Sommar picks up a set of curious thoughts. A creek burbles and bushes rustle and the filly just simply cannot resist knowing what hides within.
"Hello," she calls, slowing to a walk and tilting her head. "What are you doing in there?" It isn't a sarcastic question, or a particularly prying one, but one that is purely and simply curious.
Boring, too, though. Amongst the many colors and extra limbs and wild magic, the chestnut filly appears so terribly nondescript. But come close, or observe for just a little bit, and one will see the odd way she draws the eye - the rise of her head, slope of her neck, and limbs that almost seem as if they're floating.
And at her side, stands that terrible, bewildering creature.
"Malachai," Sommar says, ending her smooth trot and leaning against a tree. The wolf looks up at her (he has to now, as the filly just continues to grow).
Yes, he says.
"Do you ever grow tired of our exploration?" she asks.
No, the wolf answers, simple and short.
"Interesting," the filly murmurs, then jumps back into her practiced trot.
Ahead, Sommar picks up a set of curious thoughts. A creek burbles and bushes rustle and the filly just simply cannot resist knowing what hides within.
"Hello," she calls, slowing to a walk and tilting her head. "What are you doing in there?" It isn't a sarcastic question, or a particularly prying one, but one that is purely and simply curious.
" It does no good to die kicking and screaming and lashing back at the inevitable. It corrupts the soul. "