cold in the violence after the war
hope is a fire to keep us warm
Despite her youth, the armored mare had come to know every inch of her northern home very well. And now, thanks to the development of friendships, she had also grown familiar with the forested territory to the south. A byproduct of her inability to remain idle, but a useful one nonetheless.
She had not purposefully set herself up as de-facto patrol. Rather, she had realized the result in the midst of one of her innumerable laps along one of her many routes tracing the edges of the kingdom. It had become a deeply ingrained habit through pure accident rather than any deliberate intention of kingdom fealty. One that frequently saw her greeting strangers visiting her home.
Today, as with so many before, finds her loping along the thinning trees, the familiar beat of her hooves a soothing rhythm that tempers the suppressed ache of her soul. It is also how she comes upon the winged mare waiting with practiced patience. Curiosity piqued (it doesn’t take much), she slows her approach to a more moderate pace. Despite the clip of her previous gait, her breathing is steady, only the faintest trace of sweat darkening the lee of her neck and hips. More prominently accented against the pale ivory of bone and mottled hue of her coat are the bright smears of fresh blood, detailing their own story of pain and perseverance.
“Hello!” Brazen greets brightly as she draws near, a rare sort of open friendliness highlighting the lines of her animated form. Her blue eyes are bright behind the mask shrouding her features, the hint of a smile already curving her lips. “Are you looking for someone? Maybe I can help. I’m Brazen.”
Brazen