The world is open and vast.
This world is open and vast.
It is not the Mountains. The air here is not as pure as the air she has left behind her. Aletta takes a breath in and feels the corruption layer her lungs. It is a place she never thought to see again and yet here she is, breathing in Beqanna air once again. She had been taught to be weary of Magic - it corrupts, their leaders had said. It breeds entitlement through the generations and spoils the blood.
When there had been no anchor to her soul - before Valerio and their five foals settled into the places the wanderlust had been - she had come to Beqanna. (Twinge, Prague, Asylum. Aletta had learned the names of the former Jungle queens and uttered them like a prayer against a culture that bolstered its sons and denied their daughters.) The Jungle, by the time she arrived, was gone. The names of those Queens almost forgotten, save for a few mares in the North.
She had encountered creatures - recently stripped of their powers and their homes. There had been a black mare that spoke to her of the masterpieces that she could create - bonewalkers that danced by her side. There had been a stallion who lurked in the drowning reflections of the stars, smiled at her and called her Luna. As she scans the open Field, she wonders what came of them. Were they ‘blessed’ to be Immortal?
It brings Aletta to the curious thought of how time passes in Beqanna, if it passes as slowly or quickly in others. She never asked, the first time. Her dark eyes assess the few horses here, studying for signs of differences or even magic. Some are certainly colored as if they are. There are wild, rampant colors bleeding all over this field aside from the casual bay and gold, from the chestnut and silver.
The world feels too low here, as if they are fallen stars. The Heavens too far away. Even the few imposing trees can hardly keep the blue sky above them, as rivaled as it is with those who have come here. The Field. She doesn’t glance skyward but instead stands impassively, watching and letting the day go. The world is vast and open, and she knows, somebody will come.
its been a while so whoever bears with me while i figure her out, you are a saint