07-05-2016, 09:53 PM
Storms silver the air, make it shiny and electric with the nature of their intensity; she can feel it crackle along her spine and raise the finer hairs of her mane to stand on end in the air. It will storm tonight, she knows this as much as the sky clouding over says it will be so. Unlike those who talk and dream of the stars, she will not miss their twinkling coldness or the moon that changes shape as it sails along the world’s edge, sometimes fat and sometimes thin. The static electricity surges along her skin and makes her blood sing; she likes when the world burns, all lightning strikes and wildfires, just like the night she was born, illuminated in birth-fluid, blood, and stormlight. Burnt flares her nostrils and drinks deeply of the stormy air, pulling it deep into her lungs and holding it there until her lungs burn for release, and she lets the breath out in a rush. She feels alive, truly alive, only when it storms and tonight, she’ll live as she flies amongst the thunder and the rain. Burnt is exactly like her mother, Sinew; brave and small, but there the similarities end and Burnt becomes her own beast. She is robed in bay roan frame overo, gifted in the womb with the wings of a Great Horned Owl that trail embers and smoke from betwixt the feathers, and she was a telepath. Burnt had been projecting thoughts since the time of her conception, beginning with the introduction of herself to her mother from inside the womb once her brain formed and functioned more than it should have as a simple horse. Sinew had loved her from the start, from the moment Tarnished slid off her back and left his seed inside her, and Burnt knew that - knew that she was a remnant of her mother’s fascination with the stallion, and she accepted that. She even knew that her adopted sister adored her, that diminutive mammoth-horse that should not exist as much as Burnt perhaps should not but they did, in all defiance of genetics and natural law.
She is grown now, trailed at times by her mammoth-monster of a sister until she spreads her wings and takes off into the sky. Burnt needed her space, to be away from the fawning adoration of Extinct, and quite simply just to fly especially when a storm builds. There was nothing on earth like courting the lightning like a lover, all passion and ferocity, as the thunder practically sang in her blood with each boom of the heart inside her breast. She could race the lightning along the underbelly of the storm for forever, except she does not have forever like her mother does. So when the storm dies, dry and spent, she plummets to the earth in a terrifying dizzying fall until catching herself at the last possible moment and landing in a spray of damp earth and noise. Burnt laughs, still hot with pleasure, as she folds her smoking wings along her sides, unmindful of the embers that fall and burn along her fetlocks, pockmarking the earth with tiny scorched spots.
She grows entirely too sober than, her passion cooling off like the earth as it soaks up the last of the rainfall. The smell of petrichor remains, lingering in her nostrils, and she snorts harshly in the night as it settles more firmly around her, dark and solid as a living beast that snarls up and down her flank. Not once has she said a word aloud, nor has need to - they keep their distances of their own accord, perhaps she is too strange to look at, even stranger to converse with and she is happier this way.
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