we don't dare slip on by [lilliana]

[Pond]

Pond

The past year has not been a terribly kind one to Pond. In fact it had upheld a running pattern in her life of shadowing every bright occasion with something far less favorable. From the very beginning, her existence had been haunted by disruption and sadness, though there have been spans of happiness and occasionally elation. However, she is currently meandering in the gloom of the former, of melancholy and disappointment, for the newest and perhaps most major turn of events to have befallen her.

From a happy childhood to a misadventure that had separated her from her family (but ultimately saved her life); a sad return to the waking world to the hope of finding a new home; befriending a mystifying stallion only to have him (unbeknownst to her) end the life of a brief friend of hers; Pond has by no means led a very ‘normal’ life.

She has, however, tried to make the best of it despite the darker events that seek to dampen her otherwise lighthearted nature. Still, in spite of her efforts, her heart has grown heavy with guilt lately. Her mind echoes far too frequently with “what if”s and “if only”s when she dwells too fervently on the subject of her most recent distress: her encounter with Rajanish and the resultant colt that was now hers to raise. Or at least, he had been, up until quite recently. Because of the magic Oaks had inherited from his sire, Pond could hardly stand to be around her only son. The plague had left her weakened and, admittedly, the pregnancy paired with a bitter winter, had not boded well for her health. Until she regained her strength, she had resigned herself to spend as little time with her first and only child.

Today, however, is one of her lighter days. She feels somewhat stronger after having been granted a peaceful night of sleep devoid of coughing fits and dizziness. The trees have begun to regain their color with the onset of spring and the air of the common lands is rich with the scent of various blooming flowers and the unmistakable smell of fresh green life. All of it has lifted the veil from her heart and she finds it easier to venture out of her seclusion.

The River holds some importance to her, for, as well as being a calm and quiet place to socialize, it is the first place she had awoken after the Reckoning had wiped her world away from existence. Here, she had learned from Belgaer that the Deserts were no more, that the entirety of Beqanna had been remade; it was here that her life had changed once again. But it is still a peaceful place with quiet little nooks and gentle bends in the water’s path.

She has found one of these small inlets where the current is slow and almost still, a little cove where the flora can grow unhindered. Shoots of young, new reeds and grasses peek through the loamy earth and some even bear budding flowers. Delicate bluebells, lilies of the valley, little bunches of young indigo lupine - the marshy banks of Pond’s retreat are colorful against the gray-silver-brown background of the forest surrounding them.

With a contented sigh, Pond steps carefully forward and wades knee-deep into the calm waters before her. The surface of this inlet is already host to a few spreading water hyacinths and yellow poppies, painting the area with even more color. The small mare lowers her muzzle to nudge at a few with featherlight touches, delighting in the almost velvet feel of the petals tickling her lips.

Here, in a flowery little haven that takes her away from the other troubles weighing on her mind, she finds herself at ease. She doesn’t even notice the sounds of someone else approaching, too enraptured by the tranquility of this place.

@[lilliana] sorry, it’s kinda bland.. Tried to give you something to work with though, hopefully :]

[lilliana]

Beqanna was a bedtime story. During her early days, when she had been nothing but legs and soft angles of a new foal, Aletta had told her daughter so many stories. There had been the immediate ones from her family's personal history: Starlet and her quiet grace, the other Lilliana she had been named for and the stories continued to go back and back through the generations and the different places her ancestors had called home. She can't remember the first time that name Beqanna was uttered or what story it was that was told. But at some point underneath the summer sky with the crickets singing and the lush grasses swaying under starlight, Aletta whispered to her daughter about the stories that the faraway land held. The Amazons and the Jungle were a staple of her elder sister, Brielle's green eyes hungering for more at each mention of Aslyum and Antarda and Prague.

(Lilli can remember being small, asking her mother whatever came of Texas and Believer, the former King and Queen of the Dazzling Waterfalls. If Texas had been immortal, what happened to Believer all those years ago? And more importantly, what did he do now if he still existed? She can remember being so concerned for him, feeling the pang of sympathy as she grew to understand that he would have to continue to face life alone.)

But then Aletta would shift her stories to the Dale, a place that their family had called home so many generations ago. She would talk about the King, Coke and his understanding and his kindness. The silver mare would try to explain as much as she could, apologizing to her children for the gaps in the stories, the information that had been lost to time. Perhaps that was why her mother was so adamant to share what she knew, to pass along to her own children, so what they knew wouldn't become lost. And now Lilli carries those stories in her own heart, prepared to keep them and tell them to another generation if she ever has a child of her own.

The upheaval of what Beqanna once was doesn't really trouble her. The layout of this land is still strange and all she knows is that she almost always feel lost, a stranger in a strange land. There are days that pass and Lilli, so unfamiliar with loneliness, aches  to hear a kind word and wishes longingly for some kind of companionship. The days come and go with an occasional conversation, another passerby that might wish the chestnut mare a 'good morning' or just nod in her direction, barely acknowledging her existence. She can feel her silver-blue eyes light and them dim with the realization that she will be left alone again, feeling the outsider in a place where it seems (to her) that everybody has somewhere to belong, someplace to be. The optimist in her tries to find comfort that with each passing moment, she is one moment closer to finding a place to belong, that this situation is only temporary.

Someday she too will have a place to belong and somewhere to go.

Lilliana has always found beside the river and today is no different. The gods have used a paintbrush to decorate the slow-moving current with the reeds that have stretched their newly grown stems, the deep blue of the lupines that are so reminiscent of her birthplace and the other flowers that speckle the riverside. It so achingly like home that the smile that comes is gentle, wistful with all the remembering. There have been so many sweet days spent by a river like this one, so many spring days that carried the sweet scents of renewal and new life. The water moves smoothly here and Lilli enters, not hesitating against the slight chill still left from winter that moves past her. She moves from one side of the inlet towards the other and Lilli allows the gentle current to push her downstream, taking one sloshing stride after another. She follows it as she wades ankle-deep, goes round the few bends until finally it takes to her another little basin. And in this one stands a brown mare, her petite form oblivious to Lilli as she admires the enticing flowers around her. The crimson girl smiles and moves away from the river's current, coming to towards Pond and her blossoming companions. "They are lovely," the chestnut compliments, her voice warm with appreciation. "I always think the first flowers of spring smell the sweetest."

@[Pond] your post was wonderful.