11-19-2017, 11:40 PM
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XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#007db9e8', endColorstr='#497b7f',GradientType=0 );}#zosmamessage{position:relative; z-index:10;margin-top:-26px; text-align:justify; padding:0 20px 10px 20px; font:12px 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height:1.25; color:#d7d5db;}#zosmaname{font:42px 'Kanit',sans-serif;text-shadow:2px 2px 0px rgba(0,0,0,0.3);color:#f28959;letter-spacing:6px;text-align:center;opacity:0.5;}</style><center><div id="zosmabackground"><div id="zosmacontainer"><img src="https://s8.postimg.org/hqb9rcrth/zosma.jpg"><div id="zosmagradient"></div><p id="zosmamessage">The cries of Kangaroo’s child will forever haunt her.
She does her best to tend to Koala in those first few days without his dam, but she is no mother herself. All she can do is curl herself around him at night, tuck the stray blonde hairs off of his brow, and tell him it will be all right. She doesn’t know that. None of them do. None of them can find the sweet chestnut mare (who smells, inexplicably, like lavender) or even what has taken her. But they all walk together to find her, anyway. Despite the fact that there are no clues, no hints, no warnings. They all move as one, first searching the shorelines and beginnings of the forest. These are all places empty of the red woman, all places quiet of her chime-like laughter. They will have to move on and reach further.
The brindle stallion Tiger agrees with her assessment. He’s hulking and strong, a herd stallion in his previous existence; his muscles ripple under his exotic coat in a way that says he’s used them plenty. Many of the mares look to him as their leader (and potentially more), and perhaps Zosma would as well if she had thought men were the smarter and more capable sex. As it is, Tiger is as determined as she is to find Kangaroo, so she is quick to join in her support of him. They rally the group and plead their case. At first, it doesn’t work. Then Koala comes with his tears and sad, sad face and the islanders acquiesce.
That night, decision made, there are the first stirrings of malcontent. The two blood-bay brothers Sloth and Baboon stand with Kiwi, the pretty young sabino. It is clear that both of the stallions are interested in the mare, they laugh and nudge each other playfully. It would be a nice, real sight for the older woman normally (a sign that everything is okay, that everything is as it should be). But tonight, after every hushed exchange comes a pointed stare and chuckle in her and Tiger’s direction. Emu, the little filly with wild hairs behind her ears starts to cry, exhausted but unable to fall asleep. One emaciated woman, Python, circles the edge of the forest in a serpentine path around them. Zosma can’t tell if she is helping to protect them, or if her frantic eyes are counting them off, looking for weaknesses. She doesn’t like it, and squeezes around Koala even tighter that night. She doesn’t sleep herself.
On the third day, with the colt trailing her heels, Zosma follows the others into the jungle to expand the search.
<b><i>“Do you have to walk right damned behind me?!?”</i></b> Sloth’s voice cuts through the humid air. The group turns as one from their upward climb to see what is happening. The young stallion has spun around with his teeth bared in Tapir’s face. She flinches but recovers quickly. <b><i>“It’s not my fault you come by your name honestly. Get to stepping, let’s go!”</i></b> The black and white tobiano stares defiantly back at Sloth but he doesn’t let it go. Not until Tiger growls, <b><i>“move it, everyone. We have a lot of ground to cover. I need my family all together again.”</i></b> And they do have a lot of time to make up. So much that it makes Zosma’s heart constricts to think of it, to think of all the places her dear friend could be (to think of what they could have been – more than friends – if she hadn’t been taken).
As they settle in for the night, she tries not to think of anything but Kangaroo. She sets her suspicions aside (ignores the too-bright shine of Tiger’s nightly motivational speech and the weaving, senseless motions of Python) and breathes. Caiman comes up behind her and Koala’s prone forms without speaking at first and stares. Just when Zosma is about to jump to her feet and defend them, the black lady with brilliant blue eyes spits on the ground, flicks her tail, and walks away. She never settles after that. The cremello counts her pulse with her ear pressed to the ground. She imagines it is the heartbeat of Mother Earth at first, giving her its blessing. Then she hears it as Kangaroo’s own pulse. She’s pressed beside her again, ribs jutting against her chest. Zosma’s head drapes the chestnut flank and the sound of Roo’s laughter wakes her up.
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On the morning of the search’s fourth day, she is still smiling when her eyes flutter open. The smile fades like a sunset on her lips as the shouts of the others fill her ears.
<b><i>“WHERE ARE THEY? OH MY GOD, I DON’T SEE THEM ANYWHERE. KIWI?!! BABOON??!”</i></b>
She is awake instantly and her blood turns to ice because there is another one missing. Her panic rises with the frantic movement and yelling around her. She circles the ground she’d just been lying on, desperate, mad. <b>“KOALAAA?!?”</b> Her voice tatters and tears at the end, enough to draw the attention of the rest of the group. They surround her like that first time on the beach, but today, there is nothing warm in their gaze. Nothing that says they will save her if this is her fault. <b><i>“You couldn’t even watch one kid, could you? Probably killed him yourself so Tiger would put another one in you, right?”</i></b> Caiman smirks, egging the others on. Zosma is shocked but about to respond when the palomino colt walks up behind the group. They all turn and stare. Wriggling under the weight of their gazes, Koala says softly, <i><b>“I was thirsty. Stupid to go by myself, though. Sorry.”</b></i>
But Baboon and Kiwi never come back.
They wait for a while (too long) and their faces never appear in the sunlight-mottled forest. Eventually, they continue the search. Big trees fat with old life tower over their heads, mocking them with their vibrancy and age. They are beautiful, though, and home to all the animals their group has borrowed the names of. Now, the group stays tightly packed together as they move. There are no complaints of stepped-on-feet or passed-gas. There <i>are</i> other complaints, though. Caiman wants to go back to the beach where it is safer. Tapir tires of the walking, her feet are sore. Tiger even says he is hungry, so they all stop. Emu tries to share a shoot of verdant grass and he snaps at the filly’s face with barely-contained rage. These are normal reactions, Zosma tries to tell herself, frustrations boiling to life over a difficult situation. What isn’t normal is how Python behaves. The gaunt mare trails the group from a distance. Even far away, the cremello mare can see the glisten of saliva on her lips, the otherness in her eyes. She seems to not care that she is not within reach of the islanders.
The fourth night passes, blessedly uneventful.
-----------------------------------------
The fifth day does for the most part, too. They are in the deep jungle now, and it is sometimes hard to see past the choking vines and shifting mists. It forces them even closer together as they step over rotting logs and litter. Zosma can hear each and every complaint and insult muttered under hushed breath nearby. Koala presses against her flank. Every time she looks at him, he is silent, numb. Since his transgression with the water, the others won’t talk to him or acknowledge him. As if he’s the one who took Baboon and Kiwi. As if he’s the one who murdered his own mother. <b>“It’s going to be all right,”</b> Z tells him still, even if she has trouble believing it herself. But then she thinks of Kangaroo’s trusting, honey eyes meeting the cornflower blue of her own when they are reunited. She thinks of taking her back to the ocean and resting, nibbling the salt out of her hair as the seagulls wheel above. Thoughts and plans to see her soul sister again keep her moving. Hope stays alive in her heart.
That evening, they can’t see the stars.
It is everdark in the clearing they bed down in. She is loath to curl around Koala tonight, if only because it leaves her vulnerable to the others. They stand in a circle with their faces peering into the darkness. Some sleep, she imagines. <b><i>“Oh, fuck off,”</i></b> Tapir says all of a sudden, startling all of them. Zosma hears Tiger angrily grunt and shift. She doesn’t need to hear or see more of that. But something else pulls her legs out from under the sleeping golden boy. A feeling tugs at her stomach, seems to pull open the valves and sphincters until she thinks she will be sick.
The pale woman drifts away from the quiet group. She only has to go a few yards to find what she had sensed would be here. But she couldn’t have known it would be this… The burnt body of an equine, left so close to the islanders that it can’t be a coincidence. Zosma is no stranger to death (and has dealt its blow before out of necessity). But these charred remains make her head spin and heart sore. Is it Kangaroo?! <b>“No,”</b> she breathes, willing it to be someone else, as awful as that made her. Praying, because she can hear the footsteps just behind her, and Koala will be among them.
<b><i>“What in the hell are you doing out - ?”</i></b> Tiger’s smooth voice rises and stops abruptly when he sees the body. The rest fill in behind him. They stare at the corpse at first, but one-by-one, their eyes all trail up to her. Suspicious. Seething. But there is something just ahead. A face that seems to loom out of the shadows. It’s too high to be real though, she can see it now. Some of the others are too hopeful, too desperate, to think logically. <b><i>“Baboooooon?”</i></b> Sloth moans. <b><i>“Kiwi? Is that you?”</i></b> One of the women says, the first inkling of hope sparking her voice. All of the islanders rush forward and see the gruesome head. Yes, it is one of them.
Tragically.
Baboon’s sightless gaze greets them from atop a moss-covered rock. His grinning lips are a reminder of the sick game of hide-and-go-seek he’s just lost. Zosma thinks they’ve all lost, now. Because whoever is doing this isn’t just taking the horses but killing them – or is at least capable of it. This has gone from a search and rescue to a recovery party. Tiger tuts under his breath and turns away. <i>I’ve seen worse in the real world,</i> he might have said, full of bravado any other time. But tonight is not time for glory. Little Emu wails openly until she is pulled away by Tapir and Caiman. Zosma is relieved to see unshed tears glistening in both of their eyes. They nudge Koala, too, as they pass by. He follows them soundlessly. He spares her only a glum look back. Sloth throws himself at the base of the stone and weeps. <b><i>“Brother,”</i></b> he says. <b><i>“Brother, brother, brother, brother.”</i></b>
It is a horrific mantra that somehow brings her to some semblance of sleep.
----------------------------------------------------------
Day six is a raucous affair.
A large hoof pounds the dark dirt inches from her face, scaring her awake. But it is Caiman’s husky voice that hits her. <i><b>“Wakey wakey stranger lady. Beauty sleep isn’t really working for you anyway, darling.”</b></i> Zosma scrambles to her feet to find the rest of them staring at her. Even Koala peeks out from behind the tailless haunches of the monochrome Tapir. The mare grins at her devilishly when she sees the look on Zosma’s face. Tapir bites the air in aggression. <i>He’s MINE</i>. Z notices then that they all look different. They all accuse her with their unnatural expressions. <b><i>“Be a good little bitch and tell me what you’ve done,”</i></b> Tiger says, his pink tongue sliding over his lips hungrily. <b><i>“Tell us how you killed Baboon, how you killed Kiwi. And Kangaroo. Tell me and I won’t make it hurt. Too much.”</i></b> The group chortles as one behind him, their eyes glassy and faces haughty.
Zosma’s eyes are wide in shock, both at their transformations and what they believe. She tries to take a step back, but is stopped by an old tree reaching up to find light. How she wishes she could find the light herself, find the truth and restore their family - save the sickness of their misbelief from becoming fatal. Her attention is caught by Python in the back, pacing nervously. She looks like she’s lost more weight if that is even possible. She is a walking skeleton, but her eyes seem clearer than ever. Python stops and locks eyes with Zosma. <b><i>“Run!”</i></b> She doesn’t know if it is a threat or help, but she turns to heed it regardless.
And is knocked down by Caiman.
The black woman pummels her with her hooves, striking her hindquarters, her ribs. She can already feel the deep bruises forming under her pale hide. Z has only a second to roll into the attack while Caiman regroups. She knocks into the twin pillars beside her, unbalancing her attacker enough to momentarily halt the assault. As she’s rising, the blue-eyed mare latches onto her neck with her teeth and rips some skin and mane out. The others leave her to her fate, she sees, her heart breaking for Koala’s joyful grin at her pain. Once freed, Zosma spares no time in running away.
She wants to go back to the beach (where she’d lain with Roo in the sand and smelled the lavender and watched the surf break), but is totally disoriented. Instead, she runs towards a different smell but one no less powerful. Fortunately, the Citrus Grove is close to their edge of the jungle. Zosma flees into the fragrant sanctuary of it, her sides heaving and legs shaking. At least here she will be in the open and able to see any incoming approaches. Her own smell will perhaps be masked by the tropical fruits, too, should they follow her. Until then, the pale woman surrounds herself with the natural opulence and splendor of the Grove. It is beautiful. <i>Kangaroo would love it.</i> She hopes it won’t be the last beautiful thing she sees.
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XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#007db9e8', endColorstr='#497b7f',GradientType=0 );}#zosmamessage{position:relative; z-index:10;margin-top:-26px; text-align:justify; padding:0 20px 10px 20px; font:12px 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height:1.25; color:#d7d5db;}#zosmaname{font:42px 'Kanit',sans-serif;text-shadow:2px 2px 0px rgba(0,0,0,0.3);color:#f28959;letter-spacing:6px;text-align:center;opacity:0.5;}</style><center><div id="zosmabackground"><div id="zosmacontainer"><img src="https://s8.postimg.org/hqb9rcrth/zosma.jpg"><div id="zosmagradient"></div><p id="zosmamessage">The cries of Kangaroo’s child will forever haunt her.She does her best to tend to Koala in those first few days without his dam, but she is no mother herself. All she can do is curl herself around him at night, tuck the stray blonde hairs off of his brow, and tell him it will be all right. She doesn’t know that. None of them do. None of them can find the sweet chestnut mare (who smells, inexplicably, like lavender) or even what has taken her. But they all walk together to find her, anyway. Despite the fact that there are no clues, no hints, no warnings. They all move as one, first searching the shorelines and beginnings of the forest. These are all places empty of the red woman, all places quiet of her chime-like laughter. They will have to move on and reach further.
The brindle stallion Tiger agrees with her assessment. He’s hulking and strong, a herd stallion in his previous existence; his muscles ripple under his exotic coat in a way that says he’s used them plenty. Many of the mares look to him as their leader (and potentially more), and perhaps Zosma would as well if she had thought men were the smarter and more capable sex. As it is, Tiger is as determined as she is to find Kangaroo, so she is quick to join in her support of him. They rally the group and plead their case. At first, it doesn’t work. Then Koala comes with his tears and sad, sad face and the islanders acquiesce.
That night, decision made, there are the first stirrings of malcontent. The two blood-bay brothers Sloth and Baboon stand with Kiwi, the pretty young sabino. It is clear that both of the stallions are interested in the mare, they laugh and nudge each other playfully. It would be a nice, real sight for the older woman normally (a sign that everything is okay, that everything is as it should be). But tonight, after every hushed exchange comes a pointed stare and chuckle in her and Tiger’s direction. Emu, the little filly with wild hairs behind her ears starts to cry, exhausted but unable to fall asleep. One emaciated woman, Python, circles the edge of the forest in a serpentine path around them. Zosma can’t tell if she is helping to protect them, or if her frantic eyes are counting them off, looking for weaknesses. She doesn’t like it, and squeezes around Koala even tighter that night. She doesn’t sleep herself.
On the third day, with the colt trailing her heels, Zosma follows the others into the jungle to expand the search.
<b><i>“Do you have to walk right damned behind me?!?”</i></b> Sloth’s voice cuts through the humid air. The group turns as one from their upward climb to see what is happening. The young stallion has spun around with his teeth bared in Tapir’s face. She flinches but recovers quickly. <b><i>“It’s not my fault you come by your name honestly. Get to stepping, let’s go!”</i></b> The black and white tobiano stares defiantly back at Sloth but he doesn’t let it go. Not until Tiger growls, <b><i>“move it, everyone. We have a lot of ground to cover. I need my family all together again.”</i></b> And they do have a lot of time to make up. So much that it makes Zosma’s heart constricts to think of it, to think of all the places her dear friend could be (to think of what they could have been – more than friends – if she hadn’t been taken).
As they settle in for the night, she tries not to think of anything but Kangaroo. She sets her suspicions aside (ignores the too-bright shine of Tiger’s nightly motivational speech and the weaving, senseless motions of Python) and breathes. Caiman comes up behind her and Koala’s prone forms without speaking at first and stares. Just when Zosma is about to jump to her feet and defend them, the black lady with brilliant blue eyes spits on the ground, flicks her tail, and walks away. She never settles after that. The cremello counts her pulse with her ear pressed to the ground. She imagines it is the heartbeat of Mother Earth at first, giving her its blessing. Then she hears it as Kangaroo’s own pulse. She’s pressed beside her again, ribs jutting against her chest. Zosma’s head drapes the chestnut flank and the sound of Roo’s laughter wakes her up.
------------------------------------------
On the morning of the search’s fourth day, she is still smiling when her eyes flutter open. The smile fades like a sunset on her lips as the shouts of the others fill her ears.
<b><i>“WHERE ARE THEY? OH MY GOD, I DON’T SEE THEM ANYWHERE. KIWI?!! BABOON??!”</i></b>
She is awake instantly and her blood turns to ice because there is another one missing. Her panic rises with the frantic movement and yelling around her. She circles the ground she’d just been lying on, desperate, mad. <b>“KOALAAA?!?”</b> Her voice tatters and tears at the end, enough to draw the attention of the rest of the group. They surround her like that first time on the beach, but today, there is nothing warm in their gaze. Nothing that says they will save her if this is her fault. <b><i>“You couldn’t even watch one kid, could you? Probably killed him yourself so Tiger would put another one in you, right?”</i></b> Caiman smirks, egging the others on. Zosma is shocked but about to respond when the palomino colt walks up behind the group. They all turn and stare. Wriggling under the weight of their gazes, Koala says softly, <i><b>“I was thirsty. Stupid to go by myself, though. Sorry.”</b></i>
But Baboon and Kiwi never come back.
They wait for a while (too long) and their faces never appear in the sunlight-mottled forest. Eventually, they continue the search. Big trees fat with old life tower over their heads, mocking them with their vibrancy and age. They are beautiful, though, and home to all the animals their group has borrowed the names of. Now, the group stays tightly packed together as they move. There are no complaints of stepped-on-feet or passed-gas. There <i>are</i> other complaints, though. Caiman wants to go back to the beach where it is safer. Tapir tires of the walking, her feet are sore. Tiger even says he is hungry, so they all stop. Emu tries to share a shoot of verdant grass and he snaps at the filly’s face with barely-contained rage. These are normal reactions, Zosma tries to tell herself, frustrations boiling to life over a difficult situation. What isn’t normal is how Python behaves. The gaunt mare trails the group from a distance. Even far away, the cremello mare can see the glisten of saliva on her lips, the otherness in her eyes. She seems to not care that she is not within reach of the islanders.
The fourth night passes, blessedly uneventful.
-----------------------------------------
The fifth day does for the most part, too. They are in the deep jungle now, and it is sometimes hard to see past the choking vines and shifting mists. It forces them even closer together as they step over rotting logs and litter. Zosma can hear each and every complaint and insult muttered under hushed breath nearby. Koala presses against her flank. Every time she looks at him, he is silent, numb. Since his transgression with the water, the others won’t talk to him or acknowledge him. As if he’s the one who took Baboon and Kiwi. As if he’s the one who murdered his own mother. <b>“It’s going to be all right,”</b> Z tells him still, even if she has trouble believing it herself. But then she thinks of Kangaroo’s trusting, honey eyes meeting the cornflower blue of her own when they are reunited. She thinks of taking her back to the ocean and resting, nibbling the salt out of her hair as the seagulls wheel above. Thoughts and plans to see her soul sister again keep her moving. Hope stays alive in her heart.
That evening, they can’t see the stars.
It is everdark in the clearing they bed down in. She is loath to curl around Koala tonight, if only because it leaves her vulnerable to the others. They stand in a circle with their faces peering into the darkness. Some sleep, she imagines. <b><i>“Oh, fuck off,”</i></b> Tapir says all of a sudden, startling all of them. Zosma hears Tiger angrily grunt and shift. She doesn’t need to hear or see more of that. But something else pulls her legs out from under the sleeping golden boy. A feeling tugs at her stomach, seems to pull open the valves and sphincters until she thinks she will be sick.
The pale woman drifts away from the quiet group. She only has to go a few yards to find what she had sensed would be here. But she couldn’t have known it would be this… The burnt body of an equine, left so close to the islanders that it can’t be a coincidence. Zosma is no stranger to death (and has dealt its blow before out of necessity). But these charred remains make her head spin and heart sore. Is it Kangaroo?! <b>“No,”</b> she breathes, willing it to be someone else, as awful as that made her. Praying, because she can hear the footsteps just behind her, and Koala will be among them.
<b><i>“What in the hell are you doing out - ?”</i></b> Tiger’s smooth voice rises and stops abruptly when he sees the body. The rest fill in behind him. They stare at the corpse at first, but one-by-one, their eyes all trail up to her. Suspicious. Seething. But there is something just ahead. A face that seems to loom out of the shadows. It’s too high to be real though, she can see it now. Some of the others are too hopeful, too desperate, to think logically. <b><i>“Baboooooon?”</i></b> Sloth moans. <b><i>“Kiwi? Is that you?”</i></b> One of the women says, the first inkling of hope sparking her voice. All of the islanders rush forward and see the gruesome head. Yes, it is one of them.
Tragically.
Baboon’s sightless gaze greets them from atop a moss-covered rock. His grinning lips are a reminder of the sick game of hide-and-go-seek he’s just lost. Zosma thinks they’ve all lost, now. Because whoever is doing this isn’t just taking the horses but killing them – or is at least capable of it. This has gone from a search and rescue to a recovery party. Tiger tuts under his breath and turns away. <i>I’ve seen worse in the real world,</i> he might have said, full of bravado any other time. But tonight is not time for glory. Little Emu wails openly until she is pulled away by Tapir and Caiman. Zosma is relieved to see unshed tears glistening in both of their eyes. They nudge Koala, too, as they pass by. He follows them soundlessly. He spares her only a glum look back. Sloth throws himself at the base of the stone and weeps. <b><i>“Brother,”</i></b> he says. <b><i>“Brother, brother, brother, brother.”</i></b>
It is a horrific mantra that somehow brings her to some semblance of sleep.
----------------------------------------------------------
Day six is a raucous affair.
A large hoof pounds the dark dirt inches from her face, scaring her awake. But it is Caiman’s husky voice that hits her. <i><b>“Wakey wakey stranger lady. Beauty sleep isn’t really working for you anyway, darling.”</b></i> Zosma scrambles to her feet to find the rest of them staring at her. Even Koala peeks out from behind the tailless haunches of the monochrome Tapir. The mare grins at her devilishly when she sees the look on Zosma’s face. Tapir bites the air in aggression. <i>He’s MINE</i>. Z notices then that they all look different. They all accuse her with their unnatural expressions. <b><i>“Be a good little bitch and tell me what you’ve done,”</i></b> Tiger says, his pink tongue sliding over his lips hungrily. <b><i>“Tell us how you killed Baboon, how you killed Kiwi. And Kangaroo. Tell me and I won’t make it hurt. Too much.”</i></b> The group chortles as one behind him, their eyes glassy and faces haughty.
Zosma’s eyes are wide in shock, both at their transformations and what they believe. She tries to take a step back, but is stopped by an old tree reaching up to find light. How she wishes she could find the light herself, find the truth and restore their family - save the sickness of their misbelief from becoming fatal. Her attention is caught by Python in the back, pacing nervously. She looks like she’s lost more weight if that is even possible. She is a walking skeleton, but her eyes seem clearer than ever. Python stops and locks eyes with Zosma. <b><i>“Run!”</i></b> She doesn’t know if it is a threat or help, but she turns to heed it regardless.
And is knocked down by Caiman.
The black woman pummels her with her hooves, striking her hindquarters, her ribs. She can already feel the deep bruises forming under her pale hide. Z has only a second to roll into the attack while Caiman regroups. She knocks into the twin pillars beside her, unbalancing her attacker enough to momentarily halt the assault. As she’s rising, the blue-eyed mare latches onto her neck with her teeth and rips some skin and mane out. The others leave her to her fate, she sees, her heart breaking for Koala’s joyful grin at her pain. Once freed, Zosma spares no time in running away.
She wants to go back to the beach (where she’d lain with Roo in the sand and smelled the lavender and watched the surf break), but is totally disoriented. Instead, she runs towards a different smell but one no less powerful. Fortunately, the Citrus Grove is close to their edge of the jungle. Zosma flees into the fragrant sanctuary of it, her sides heaving and legs shaking. At least here she will be in the open and able to see any incoming approaches. Her own smell will perhaps be masked by the tropical fruits, too, should they follow her. Until then, the pale woman surrounds herself with the natural opulence and splendor of the Grove. It is beautiful. <i>Kangaroo would love it.</i> She hopes it won’t be the last beautiful thing she sees.
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