we are searchlights;

[siona]

Eyes open.
Stretch - paws first; each toe, then up through her legs, tail, to the tips of her ears. It’s time to start the day, she thinks.
She pads quietly through the tall grass, so small that she can’t quite see what’s in front of her, but presses on regardless. She doesn’t quite remember before, doesn’t quite know where she’s going now, but looks determined to get to there, so she trots on until she hears the murmur of others.

Siona stops suddenly, then, and picks her head up, struggling to see above the grass. What she can see is beautiful, though: the field opens up before her, a waterfall and a lake and other horses. The thought of company excites her, so she continues until she can see without struggling, ears perked forward.
There is no one quite like me, she thinks, looking around at the small groups gathered in the field. She is so young, so small, easily overlooked as she bears a closer resemblance to a fox than a horse: her unusual coloring, pawed feet, fluffy tail. She decides to move closer anyway, trotting quietly towards the lake - cooler in the heat of the middle of summer. She takes a drink, dipping her head down, ears alert, hoping for someone to approach.

[wound]

M omma, when will we get there?” Wound can see the mahogany curve of her daughter’s back ahead of her in the trail, still within sight but dancing across the line of discomfort. She knows Wishbone is excited to see more of Beqanna — it’s obvious in the way her daughter darts ahead to investigate fallen trees and skittering rabbits and foreign scents found along the trail. Wound has no doubt the stardust girl will find many adventures in her life, as if she hasn’t found any so far. The heat of the summer sun is scattered by the array of leaves that shield the trail leading between a thin forest before they reach the Field. “Come here, my love,” Wound calls as they reach the treeline. They are here to find those who might be scared or lonely and offer them reassurance and family born from different loins. Although Wishbone is a flaming shooting star, Wound also believes it is important to harness her daughter’s strengths and teach her patience. “Wishbone, this is the Field. It is important that you don’t say anything rude. We’re here to meet someone new and maybe see if they want to live in Tephra with us.” A faint memory flickers in the back of Wound’s mind — Femur’s fanged face showing up to greet the silver bay when her nerves still plagued her and her heart was wandering. “This is where I met Femur, after all.” She’s told Wishbone stories of her friend, and the mother of Wishbone’s playmates. “Now, follow me. And do not wander.” With a twist of her ears, Wound leads her daughter into the clearing of the Field. She keeps her eyes open for anyone not engaged in conversation, though most of them are. She begins to give up hope until she turns and notices Wishbone approaching a bright red mare (though there is a question to that word, with the girl’s bushy tail and triangular ears) with a wide, vibrant grin on her face. “Hiya! I’m Wishbone. What’s your name? How did you get your tail? And what about your paws?” The girl is a hazardous toss of bravery and Mother Earth, with her growing mane already twisted in knots and her knees scraped from her recent expeditions. Although Wishbone finds security within the borders of Tephra, there is no denying she does not feel frightened in the face of a foreigner. Wound begins to quickly limp over, coffee-brown eyes already apologetic.

credit to nat of adoxography.

@[siona]

[siona]

She hears them coming - those comically large ears are good for something, after all - and her little body can hardly contain its excitement, flipping around quickly as the little one reaches her first. She is closer to Siona’s size, though still a bit taller and horse-like, and Siona finds comfort in her scrappy appearance. Wishbone seems wild, just like the fox-girl, who returns her greetings and questions with a sharp-toothed grin.
“Hi! I’m Siona! I was just born like this. I like my tail, don’t you?”
She assumes the larger mare is Wishbone’s mother, though Siona’s own mother never worried over her as Wound does her daughter. Her relatives were less of a family and more of a collection of independents - wandering alone was their specialty, although Siona was unusual, craving the attention of others.
“And my paws are great for playing! They’re much sneakier - hi!” Before Wound can speak, Siona continues on, “I don’t really know where I am or what to do. Do you know? Can you help me?”
She looks back and forth between them, hazel eyes wide with excitement, tail flicking back and forth - the only way she can release her energy while standing still.

[wound]

W ishbone decides she likes this fox-girl very much. Tephra holds quite a few interestingly-gifted members — her own father has wings, some of them can heal with fire, her playmates’ father can shift into a blue wolf — but none of them are as cool as this girl. “I love your tail!” They are similar creatures, practically vibrating with energy and dancing around each other to the song of Mother Earth. By this time, Wound has reached the pair. She’s about to scold Wishbone before carefully asking about the fox-girl when she bounces forward with her own plethora of questions, tail whipping behind her. Although Siona’s mouth holds sharp canines, Wound is not concerned with either her personal or her daughter’s safety. “I’ll be able to help you.” The silver bay’s smile is warm. Wishbone quickly scrambles in front of her mother, sunset eyes wild with excitement at finding a new friend in a new place. “This is my mom and her name is Wound! You’re in the Field.” The mahogany girl beams with pride at explaining the situation, and Wound gently touches her daughter’s shoulder in an attempt to calm her. It works, as it always does, when she pushes a soft breath of air across the slope of Wishbone’s shoulder and along her slender neck. The girl settles down alongside her mother, tangled knots of her growing forelock dancing along her forehead. “Are you looking for a home, Siona?” Wound’s eyes are pleasant — they are the eyes of a mother — as she looks down at the girl, curious to her answer.

credit to nat of adoxography.

@[siona]

[siona]

Siona loves the differences between them: their hooves, knotted manes and tails, the older mare’s uneven step and graying body. She’s seen horses before, of course, but still finds every bit of them fascinating. Where Siona came from, most others looked like her, or could fully shift into any type of fox, so she was hardly unusual-looking. She’s sure that she isn’t the strangest-looking animal in Beqanna, either, although she wouldn’t mind it if she was. Siona was as far from self conscious as anyone could be.
Wishbone’s mother, Wound, is warm and soothingly friendly; Siona likes her already. Wishbone, like the fox-girl, is brimming with excitement, but settles as Wound gently touches her daughter and blows across her neck and shoulder. It subdues Siona too, strangely, as she watches, eyes large and inquisitive, what would be deemed too intimate in her family. The quiet only lasts for a moment before Wound asks if she is looking for a home.
“I wasn’t, really,” - she’d only been wandering - “but I bet wherever you live is great!” She says, brightening again. “I’ll come with you. Can you tell me about it on the way?” With that, she stamps her feet in place, punctuating her decision to find a new home.

we can continue the thread in Tephra, if you want!