11-28-2020, 03:45 PM
take my soul & make it undone
be the one, be the one to take me home and show me the sun. i know, i know you can bring the fire, i can bring the bones. i know, i know you'll make the fire, my bones will make it grow.
The high grass brushes against the lean curve of Wishbone’s belly as she steps into the sunlight. In her past life, the grass would have reached her shoulders, perhaps even higher. Her long, dark legs make it easy to carve her own path through the wild grasses. While she walks, field mice scurry from their hiding places and a few sparrows take flight. She pauses midstep to watch as one of the birds catches a warm western breeze to glide upon. The movement of the wings reminds her of Warrick, how he would glide on salty winds as he patrolled the borders. Wishbone can remember dodging low-lying vines and leaping over streams of lava to race her father from the ground.
A young voice startles her from the memory. Wishbone blinks her distinctive amber eyes and realizes she had been staring at an empty blue sky, the sparrow having disappeared. Her chiseled head turns toward the boy, an expression of indifference marking her black-and-gold face. “Quell,” she repeats the name, testing how it sounds on her mouth. There is something about the boy that seems familiar to her and she wonders if he is the son of someone she used to know. Wishbone knows many horses in Beqanna, though she isn’t exactly sure if any of them will remember her now. She shakes her neck slightly as if to brush the fleeting thought from her mind and the tangled threads of her mane roll across her crest as she does so.
“My name is Wishbone.” In the time she had spent in the quiet corners of Beqanna, tripping over her new legs and searching for her lost purpose, she had contemplated crafting an entirely new identity. It would be easy to imagine a new alias, pursue a new personality, and forget the true Wishbone. She found there were no names that fit. Deeper than that, the conversations she had with the trees in a new identity felt wrong. The true, authentic Wishbone could never pretend to be anyone she isn’t.
Her look of indifference shifts into something more natural for the amber-eyed woman. A witty smile reaches her lips while her eyes shine with a look that might be the cousin to mischief. “I suppose I’m looking for an adventure.”
A young voice startles her from the memory. Wishbone blinks her distinctive amber eyes and realizes she had been staring at an empty blue sky, the sparrow having disappeared. Her chiseled head turns toward the boy, an expression of indifference marking her black-and-gold face. “Quell,” she repeats the name, testing how it sounds on her mouth. There is something about the boy that seems familiar to her and she wonders if he is the son of someone she used to know. Wishbone knows many horses in Beqanna, though she isn’t exactly sure if any of them will remember her now. She shakes her neck slightly as if to brush the fleeting thought from her mind and the tangled threads of her mane roll across her crest as she does so.
“My name is Wishbone.” In the time she had spent in the quiet corners of Beqanna, tripping over her new legs and searching for her lost purpose, she had contemplated crafting an entirely new identity. It would be easy to imagine a new alias, pursue a new personality, and forget the true Wishbone. She found there were no names that fit. Deeper than that, the conversations she had with the trees in a new identity felt wrong. The true, authentic Wishbone could never pretend to be anyone she isn’t.
Her look of indifference shifts into something more natural for the amber-eyed woman. A witty smile reaches her lips while her eyes shine with a look that might be the cousin to mischief. “I suppose I’m looking for an adventure.”
@[quell]