11-24-2018, 02:16 PM
There is a flush of fear, cold and familiar, at the sound of my name on his lips. I have known, somewhere in the back of my mind, that I would have to face him again. Foolishly, I had thought it would be years from now. I had let myself believe that a god had better things to do than bother with someone like me. He had gotten what he wanted of me and I had done my best to remain unmemorable. Surely he’d had a thousand mares in the time since.
‘you must mustake me for someone who kneels to you’, he says
No one kneels to me, I think. Not here. Not anymore.
Here I am no one; here I live a paused life. My time in the brilliant pampas has thus far been like some sort of dream. Spring is warm and grazing is plentiful; there are no dangers. I know the world spins on outside this little herd land that Noah possesses, but I have thought little of it since my arrival. The arrival of the golden stallion and his harsh words is an abrupt shock, one that I still struggle to process even after he finishes speaking. The danger in his eyes dulls my tongue and amplifies the thunder of my heart.
It would be easiest to become docile.
I am more likely to survive if I give him what he wants.
These are rules that I had nearly forgotten, awareness that comes along with a twinge of phantom pain in my once-broken wing. But there is a stronger ache, one that is far more real, one that reminds me there is a little boy not terribly far away, and that I cannot leave him. It reminds me that I have priorities beyond my own survival.
“Go find one then.” I reply, my reply firm but without venom. I am doubtful (exceedingly so) that this tactic might work, and so I reach for the threads of emotion that bind my magic. It has been some time since I used them. I’d had no need to, not when happiness was the only thing I felt and there was no sadness or fear to cover up.
No fear until now, anyway. I’m not sure how effective I might be against something omnipotent, but I am willing to try.
‘you must mustake me for someone who kneels to you’, he says
No one kneels to me, I think. Not here. Not anymore.
Here I am no one; here I live a paused life. My time in the brilliant pampas has thus far been like some sort of dream. Spring is warm and grazing is plentiful; there are no dangers. I know the world spins on outside this little herd land that Noah possesses, but I have thought little of it since my arrival. The arrival of the golden stallion and his harsh words is an abrupt shock, one that I still struggle to process even after he finishes speaking. The danger in his eyes dulls my tongue and amplifies the thunder of my heart.
It would be easiest to become docile.
I am more likely to survive if I give him what he wants.
These are rules that I had nearly forgotten, awareness that comes along with a twinge of phantom pain in my once-broken wing. But there is a stronger ache, one that is far more real, one that reminds me there is a little boy not terribly far away, and that I cannot leave him. It reminds me that I have priorities beyond my own survival.
“Go find one then.” I reply, my reply firm but without venom. I am doubtful (exceedingly so) that this tactic might work, and so I reach for the threads of emotion that bind my magic. It has been some time since I used them. I’d had no need to, not when happiness was the only thing I felt and there was no sadness or fear to cover up.
No fear until now, anyway. I’m not sure how effective I might be against something omnipotent, but I am willing to try.
