for every tyrant, a tear for the vulnerable
in every lost soul, the bones of a miracle
Hyaline fades into Forest and the thick tree cover gives way to the sea. Before the Fairies rearranged things Hyaline had been on this coast, to the north some, if she remembers correctly. It’s hard to say for sure, the miles of blue black sea aren’t exactly abundant in landmarks. Its has taken her most of the day to get here from home, the forest is full of paths but none of them lead directly anywhere and there are some places that even bold Kensa will not delve into on her own.
The journey itself is what pleases her, the way the flora varies. Pine needles to moss, moss to ferns. Pines become cedars, a few redwoods too, ancients gone astray from the Taiga. She has no special gifts granted her by magic, but she feels the world with an unusual intensity. Kensa fills up on the fragrance of forest, lets the ocean tease her with its salty whisper carried inland on the boldest zephyrs. Woodpeckers fill her ears with their stuccato carpentry, and a fox and her kits yelp at her from atop their deadfall den. There is always a new variation here, something to process, examine, enjoy. She revels in this, existence is a drug.
Liver chestnut, with high white on her four limbs, a wide white blaze and pale blonde locks Kensa is flashy, striking against any backdrop. She knows she doesn’t exactly blend in, and is not inclined to shrink back or conceal herself when she comes across a stranger. In this case, a grullo stranger turning away from the coast and toward the blue-green forest from which she is emerging.
Kensa intercepts him quietly, gemstone eyes alert as she offers her muzzle in greeting, greedily hoping to sample his scent and puzzle out where he has come from. “Kensa.” Giving her name as a hello before politely sliding by, because she has arrived here and needs to take a look down over those black rocks, to gaze upon the diamond myriad of water droplets bursting up from the impacts of waves. Satisfied by the sight she pulls her eyes slowly away to look back at the stallion who might still be walking away. “Where are you going?” Silvery, gentle, curious.
@[Finnus]
