Rain grey towns; Brine, Any

[Brine]

brine

I turned off my light, harder to find
that way

Nerine has cool mornings.

She stands stationary against the breeze coming from the ocean, facing the endless blue reaching far beyond her vision. It has been two years since she last saw her golden world, the way the rays kissed her skin and how her love for living kissed right back.

Ignorance has always been bliss.
(But, knowledge is power.)

Since…everything… Brine had found power by realizing she could choose where to go, when, and who to go with. It dawned on her that she could limit her risk of danger.

That if she was careful enough, nothing bad could ever happen to her again.

Nothing worse than losing her child to freedom, at least.

The sun slowly rose to her east, the softness of warmth tickling at her flank and ribs. The water rises into her feet, losing sight of her hooves before it falls back in a toss of rage and awaits the next push.

An hour passes before the sun rises high enough that the heat begins to feel more suffocating than soothing. Another reason she finds refuge in the shadows; they don’t burn.

Brine weaves between Jacobean painted tree trunks and emerald—practically fluorescent—moss, retreating back to the safety of her hiding place in effort to beat the afternoon social hour that draws everyone from their corner.

The sound of a falling bundle of weights crashes ahead of her, suddenly triggering her hocks to dip into the soil and slide to panicked halt. Eyes scower the forest floor, manically hunting for the source of the clamor.

She is female, once Brine finds her. A navy stripe accents her darker, dirtier gold hue in comparison to Ruth’s vibrant yellow. Her white socked legs tuck deep beneath her, as if to cradle herself.

And for the first time ever, Brine isn’t busy finding the quickest exit. No, instead she takes one step closer—hesitant, unsure—before lowering her head to get a closer vantage point on the mare’s smell.

Where are you from?

“Are you alright?” She asks instead, her hazel eyes falling onto the strange newcomer with slight fascination. Perhaps it’s the fact the horse seems too weak to pose a threat, or maybe it’s the familiar scent of estrangement lifting from her soul to touch Brine’s chest.

Whatever it is, Brine stays.

@[Eyas]