11-01-2019, 01:54 PM
The golden filly overshoots her target, the rabbit escapes and she crashes between the reaching branches of the hawthorn trees, laughter light on her lips. She does not notice at first that things have changed, the shadows are always dark and sharp at noon. The first hints are yellow eyes, opening in ones and twos and threes, peering at her in silence, then swirling away.
"Mama...?"
The darkness presses thick against her, and her voice doesn't echo but sounds small and tight in her ears. When she cranes her neck to peer behind her, there is no light beyond to hint at where she came, no prickly branches or patchwork mare. In the meadow, Mehendi tears at the hawthorn trees with her teeth, beats at their trunks until they dent and splinter, but Beryl cannot see or hear it, and her mother's grief and rage cannot show her the way home. When the filly turns - she thinks that she has turned - the eyes behind blink out, reappear ahead of her, twisting away again into the darkness. What can she do but follow them?
Her steps forward show no progress; how can there be in this blackness, this silence? Her ears feel as though they are stuffed with cotton, and only the yellow eyes give her a sense of direction in the darkness. She should be afraid of them, she knows that she should, when in the history of ever have floating yellow eyes heralded anything benevolent? But she has nothing else to go by and, innocent, she takes their lead, wondering how they know where to go, when they never look ahead, only at her.
Hssss
A breath in her ear makes her shy hard to the right with a scream and the darkness falls away like a shroud. She stands half in the shadow of a canyon wall, the sun has hardly shifted from its peak in the sky.
"Hello?" The question echoes off the sandstone rock faces and her eyes water in the sudden, bright light, leaving her momentarily blinded. She catches the tumbling sound of hooves on rock. A large stag comes bounding by, his hide sweaty, eyes rolling in their sockets. He does not see her in his path and clips her with his shoulder, throwing her to the ground. The rough sand underneath scrapes her knees, the force knocks the breath from her lungs, and the small filly chokes back a cry for her dam as more deer charge by, panting and bleating, a mass of brown legs and panic-stricken blindess. It's infectious, Beryl struggles to her feet and runs with the herd, runs without knowing what chases them.
She shouldn't be as fast as them, but she has no difficulty keeping pace, only the welling terror in her breast slowing her. But why are they running? She chances a foolish glance behind but her young legs trip on the uneven ground and she stumbles, tripping up the doe behind her so that they both tangle and fall into a pile on the ground. The doe steps on her, bruising ribs and shoulders as she attempts to stand, but it's too late. Black creatures encroach, coming with the easy surety of hunters that know their prey cannot escape. Their long, bladed tails whip smoothly through the air with a menacing whistle. The sound makes Beryl's heart drop into her stomach and the doe throws herself at the high, flat walls, but her cloven feet find no grip.
Don't watch! The filly turns, not knowing that she is in little danger from the creatures. Dark eyes find a small hidden place, a gap beneath the smallest outcropping of rock. Hide. She crawls into it, forcing her way in, pale pink-grey hooves kicking out sandy dirt to press into the darkness of the rock hollow. Her hooves dig in, but the hollow seems never ending. Though she had clearly seen it's back, she never reaches it.
Darkness again. And eyes.
"Mama...?"
The darkness presses thick against her, and her voice doesn't echo but sounds small and tight in her ears. When she cranes her neck to peer behind her, there is no light beyond to hint at where she came, no prickly branches or patchwork mare. In the meadow, Mehendi tears at the hawthorn trees with her teeth, beats at their trunks until they dent and splinter, but Beryl cannot see or hear it, and her mother's grief and rage cannot show her the way home. When the filly turns - she thinks that she has turned - the eyes behind blink out, reappear ahead of her, twisting away again into the darkness. What can she do but follow them?
Her steps forward show no progress; how can there be in this blackness, this silence? Her ears feel as though they are stuffed with cotton, and only the yellow eyes give her a sense of direction in the darkness. She should be afraid of them, she knows that she should, when in the history of ever have floating yellow eyes heralded anything benevolent? But she has nothing else to go by and, innocent, she takes their lead, wondering how they know where to go, when they never look ahead, only at her.
Hssss
A breath in her ear makes her shy hard to the right with a scream and the darkness falls away like a shroud. She stands half in the shadow of a canyon wall, the sun has hardly shifted from its peak in the sky.
"Hello?" The question echoes off the sandstone rock faces and her eyes water in the sudden, bright light, leaving her momentarily blinded. She catches the tumbling sound of hooves on rock. A large stag comes bounding by, his hide sweaty, eyes rolling in their sockets. He does not see her in his path and clips her with his shoulder, throwing her to the ground. The rough sand underneath scrapes her knees, the force knocks the breath from her lungs, and the small filly chokes back a cry for her dam as more deer charge by, panting and bleating, a mass of brown legs and panic-stricken blindess. It's infectious, Beryl struggles to her feet and runs with the herd, runs without knowing what chases them.
She shouldn't be as fast as them, but she has no difficulty keeping pace, only the welling terror in her breast slowing her. But why are they running? She chances a foolish glance behind but her young legs trip on the uneven ground and she stumbles, tripping up the doe behind her so that they both tangle and fall into a pile on the ground. The doe steps on her, bruising ribs and shoulders as she attempts to stand, but it's too late. Black creatures encroach, coming with the easy surety of hunters that know their prey cannot escape. Their long, bladed tails whip smoothly through the air with a menacing whistle. The sound makes Beryl's heart drop into her stomach and the doe throws herself at the high, flat walls, but her cloven feet find no grip.
Don't watch! The filly turns, not knowing that she is in little danger from the creatures. Dark eyes find a small hidden place, a gap beneath the smallest outcropping of rock. Hide. She crawls into it, forcing her way in, pale pink-grey hooves kicking out sandy dirt to press into the darkness of the rock hollow. Her hooves dig in, but the hollow seems never ending. Though she had clearly seen it's back, she never reaches it.
Darkness again. And eyes.
Beryl
Litotes x Mehendi