11-18-2020, 11:07 PM
isn't she lovely?
Ruthless—for a moment—is lost in memory of flight.
The soft multi-coloured feathers that wafted in the gentle breeze took Ruth back to when she too would explore the sky. And then they were gone.
Another innocent casualty.
She is ignorant to the mare’s delay in acknowledgment, still thinking of a time where the ground looked so small. The apologetic and seemingly scattered voice that breaks her daydream reminds the golden mare how little time it took for her world to truly shatter.
“I am in your home, aren’t I?” She offers kindly, “my old home, but nonetheless old to me.”
Is she lost?
The question the strange greeter follows with creates a lump in the back of Ruth’s throat. She truly is, isn’t she? No one familiar, nothing the same, everything disoriented and so very wrong. The little doe is most certainly lost.
“No,” is what chimes out next like an automated message, “I lived in Taiga a couple years back, and was guided by a mare named Lilia—” her voice falls short at the familiar scent lingering crisp at her now flared nostrils.
Is she lost?
The chestnut mare emerges with the same grace and dignity she had always carried with what looked like a mix of exhaustion. Or desperation. Ruthless could never tell with Lilliana, she had remained a bottle uncorked. Then again, the blonde filly had never been vulnerable or sharing with Lilliana either.
She had done well at creating barriers.
“I don’t know,” is what she responds to her chestnut friend breathlessly, worried because what if she says she is back and then cannot bear to stay again?
What if—like every other time—she runs to the shadows again.
Embarrassment flushes Ruth as she remembers the other mare is here, witnessing the awkward reunion and subject to old scars and stories. She attempts to regain herself, mouth dry and stomach churned to calm or at the very least coherent.
“My apologies, I am Ruthless. This is who brought me here as a child,” she dares to flicker her attention back to Lilliana in fear of being flooded again.
Emotions had always been nauseating.
The soft multi-coloured feathers that wafted in the gentle breeze took Ruth back to when she too would explore the sky. And then they were gone.
Another innocent casualty.
She is ignorant to the mare’s delay in acknowledgment, still thinking of a time where the ground looked so small. The apologetic and seemingly scattered voice that breaks her daydream reminds the golden mare how little time it took for her world to truly shatter.
“I am in your home, aren’t I?” She offers kindly, “my old home, but nonetheless old to me.”
Is she lost?
The question the strange greeter follows with creates a lump in the back of Ruth’s throat. She truly is, isn’t she? No one familiar, nothing the same, everything disoriented and so very wrong. The little doe is most certainly lost.
“No,” is what chimes out next like an automated message, “I lived in Taiga a couple years back, and was guided by a mare named Lilia—” her voice falls short at the familiar scent lingering crisp at her now flared nostrils.
Is she lost?
The chestnut mare emerges with the same grace and dignity she had always carried with what looked like a mix of exhaustion. Or desperation. Ruthless could never tell with Lilliana, she had remained a bottle uncorked. Then again, the blonde filly had never been vulnerable or sharing with Lilliana either.
She had done well at creating barriers.
“I don’t know,” is what she responds to her chestnut friend breathlessly, worried because what if she says she is back and then cannot bear to stay again?
What if—like every other time—she runs to the shadows again.
Embarrassment flushes Ruth as she remembers the other mare is here, witnessing the awkward reunion and subject to old scars and stories. She attempts to regain herself, mouth dry and stomach churned to calm or at the very least coherent.
“My apologies, I am Ruthless. This is who brought me here as a child,” she dares to flicker her attention back to Lilliana in fear of being flooded again.
Emotions had always been nauseating.
Ruthless
father x mother or rank
@[lilliana] @[Amarine]