[open] No hammer to hold; Any

[Eleanor]

Eleanor, a sprite and joyous girl wrapped in a feline skin, hopped through the field. Her paws marked the patches of dirt scattered throughout the grounds. She took great care to avoid the grass almost as if her life depended on it. It was definitely a site to see, a small black shadow making its way across the land with hopscotch flare. This wasn’t a rare day for Eleanor. She often turned life into a giant game. In her eyes she was scouring the foreign lava lands with pristine agility and courage. The tall, waving grass represented the fire fields beneath a towering, imaginary volcano. Eleanor imagined she had traveled years of hardship to meet the mysterious volcano and masterfully hop through its booby traps. The scattered bits of dirt were the only safe landing spots. She jumped. Waited, calculated, and then jumped to the next checkpoint- all the while skipping over the twirling, treacherous grass.   It was only in her small feline form that she could accurately maneuver the game. Her large equine form was clunky and clumsy. Under no circumstance could she have escaped the burning draws of the lava with her slippery hooves and heavy head. Eleanor found more peace and joys in her abnormal form. She could better hide, play, and sneak through the world. If she cared to interact with another horse it often ended in Eleanor simply reading their mind and imagining herself in the conversation. It was practically like she was talking to the other horse, but without all the fuss of relationships.  Eleanor had successfully imagined herself into all sorts of conversations. She had a make shift lover, sibling, and over a dozen friends. They may not have known she was hiding in the shadows, but surely they would help her in a time of need. Either way her quiet, censored life was all right with her, and it was certainly not on her mind as she continued to jump through the field.     eleanor

[Zenith]

Through despair and hope, Through faith and love. Till we find our place, on the path unwinding.

 
Zenith is nearly always hungry. And today, he has been hunting far too long for much too small of game. His long golden back and elbows are low to the ground, his powerful shoulders and haunches level with the tops of the meadow grasses.  He is a lion, and he pads softly towards his prey.

He does not hunt anything equine, he never has, and probably never will. Maybe that’s why his belly is never really full. Like most days, today he is hunting his usual quarry, ground squirrels, chipmunks, maybe a coyote if he is lucky. The forest provides him with deer and rabbits, but he enjoys the open spaces of the meadow, and often finds himself here despite the lesser game.

But all of his thought of food are dismissed when a scent much like his own, yet foreign catches his attention.  He sits upright then, all efforts for stealth abandoned, his massive head turning on his maned shoulders in search of the source of the feline scent.

And then he sees her. Like a shooting star she appears and disappears in the tall grasses, and he lets out a gruff wuff, which is half laugh and half summons. It would be good to meet another of his kind, or almost his kind, again.

ZENITH