12-14-2020, 06:59 PM
and troy came tumbling down
Beauty. Beauty to burn the brains out. This was the first impression that hit Andromache at the sight of the field before her. Summer burned like a secret on her skin, bleached her coat into a ruddy red. From where she stood she could see that she was not the only one to look like herself. Or more, she looked like the rest of them. From a distance, one saw not her past; one saw simply a red-bay mare, with a body that told of survival. A number of scars marred her withers from many battles past, and through them sang black skin; a choir. I have fought. I have survived. I did not fly too close to the sun.
She had run far, and for the first time in a long time, Andromache felt like her journey was enough for her to rest. They were no longer in Hellas, no longer in that place of memories. Here she could be whoever she wanted to be.
Andromache, she reminded herself. Your name is Andromache. In the before times, she'd used that as a mantra every time she'd woken up. Others had said it, yes, but every time she said it it was an act of possession. I am Andromache. Not you.
Despite her relief, the mare known as Andromache was tired. Her muscles quivered, pushed to exhaustion, and her body screamed with thirst. It was a good thing, though, a constant companion through these empty lands in which she knew no one. Miles and miles she had run, had kicked the world away from her, but the hunger was always there. Even when she ate, filled herself to bursting, a subtle hunger loved her while she tried not to pay attention.
But for now she truly was hungry, and she made her way down to the field and lowered her head. She cared not whether anyone talked to her, a lone mare who would pass for anyone else at all.
andromache
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