tossed around like seaglass [nyxia]

[Nyxia]

i'll use you as a warning sign
that if you talk enough sense, then you'll lose your mind.

She is nervous, but he coaxes her from the shadow of the trees and leads her across the meadow. It isn’t like him to lead her this far from the den, in fact, most of the time he told her to stay put; she would keep busy playing with her fox-friends and he would come back at sundown, always. Always. Just like he promised. Today is different, though, because today he has told her she needs to play with children like her—not little foxes and rabbits, not fawns and elk calves. Foals. Foals with big personalities that would probably make her feel awkward and small.

“What if no one likes me?” She lays her ears back, ducking her head.

“Why wouldn’t they like you?” Her father wonders, looking back at her with eyes much like her own.

Except there’s something in his that speaks volumes of his strength, something that reminds her of the jungle cats in his stories—something wild and fierce. She imagines hers are soft, like sweet golden honey; innocent and doe-like, easily read, betraying her for the coward she often tends to be. He doesn’t shame her when she comes running to him in the middle of the night, shaking, whimpering about a nightmare she’s had; he’s never shamed her, but she imagines the shame he must feel in having a daughter that’s already weaned and still terribly afraid of the dark.

“Well… you know….”

“There is nothing wrong with being afraid, Nyxia.”

“But I’m afraid of everything.”

“Are you afraid of me?” He asks, catching her off guard.

“Of course not, you’re my dad… why would I be afraid of you?” Nyxia blinks.

“Because there are very few things in the whole of Beqanna scarier than me,” he laughs, waiting for her to catch up to him before he continues, softer now, “and I will never let anything bad happen to you.”

**

Nyxia picks her way across The Playground all by her lonesome and not once does she look over her shoulder to see if her father is watching; nope, she’s determined to at least look like she’s holding herself together—if only to please him. He wants her to make friends, he says; it’ll be good for her to get out there and interact with others her own age. Teach her ‘valuable social skills.’ Pah. She doesn’t need social skills, she can easily live alone in the forest with her fox-friends—they’re probably a lot more fun than these silly horses anyways.

Snorting, the lavender girl holds her head a little higher and is just about to find a nice hidden spot in the nearest copse of trees (a nap sounds pretty good right about now) when she’s approached by a smaller girl—a younger girl. The little thing is very polite, which totally throws Nyxia off; she’d been expecting some group of mean, nasty bullies to come along and start trouble. This is a rather welcome surprise “My coat?” She cocks her head, carefully inspecting herself. She’d never thought about it before. Was this not a normal… color? Or was the younger filly just being incredibly nice? “Thank you, I suppose. I think yours is very pretty, too,” she tries to smile, but she’s pretty sure it doesn’t… look like a smile.

Probably a forced grimace.

Why did her father make her come here again?

“I-I’m Nyxia,” she nods, mostly to herself; she’d gotten her name out, job well done.

“I would love to be your friend.”

talk some sense to me.