01-31-2022, 09:11 PM
Golden and glittering, she stands at the edge of the Field, glancing deer-like across it for signs of danger before stepping smoothly into the clearing. Once upon a time, the field was a major highway for horses looking for homes, new faces, old faces, all converging here and waiting for homes to be offered them. Those days are mostly gone, and with them, the ancient pathways through this place that is so full of Beqanna's ghosts.
Sometimes, she thinks she hears them whispering to her, but it is only ever the wind, the grass, the leaves. The shadow of a cloud drifting past the moon plays tricks on your eyes. Memories she never formed play out across the empty plain. There's no magic in it except that of an over-active imagination, so it is easy to think at first that the dim, horse-shaped glow, was just another part of the scenes she pretends to remember until he turns and the destruction of his face stops the girl dead.
She would never pretend anything like that. Not her, not this child of the Eclipse. Dace's daughter had sheltered beneath Isilya's boughs and denied Gale's nightmares their victory, but she had seen the fissures carved into flesh and memory and remembered how she had silently declared never again. It is not fair to hide in safety if she is the only one who knows the way back. Perhaps if she had not done that, she would know where her father had gone, if he was alive, or if his bones were somewhere safe.
Her path alters to bring her closer and though she can walk more quietly than she does now, for the benefit of the blinded stallion she takes no care to deaden the noise.
He smiles and it is horrifying, but there's nothing terrifying in his manner, only a sort of sadness, like something lost or forgotten. Gilda has always been too trusting, too friendly - it drove Dace mad with worry - and now that little splinter of guilt in her heart makes it impossible for her to walk on. Instead, she pauses, liquid brown eyes unwavering as they trace the mangled lines of him.
"Yes," her voice is soft to match the quiet of this place that once was so busy, "My name's Gilda. Do you need help?"
Sometimes, she thinks she hears them whispering to her, but it is only ever the wind, the grass, the leaves. The shadow of a cloud drifting past the moon plays tricks on your eyes. Memories she never formed play out across the empty plain. There's no magic in it except that of an over-active imagination, so it is easy to think at first that the dim, horse-shaped glow, was just another part of the scenes she pretends to remember until he turns and the destruction of his face stops the girl dead.
She would never pretend anything like that. Not her, not this child of the Eclipse. Dace's daughter had sheltered beneath Isilya's boughs and denied Gale's nightmares their victory, but she had seen the fissures carved into flesh and memory and remembered how she had silently declared never again. It is not fair to hide in safety if she is the only one who knows the way back. Perhaps if she had not done that, she would know where her father had gone, if he was alive, or if his bones were somewhere safe.
Her path alters to bring her closer and though she can walk more quietly than she does now, for the benefit of the blinded stallion she takes no care to deaden the noise.
He smiles and it is horrifying, but there's nothing terrifying in his manner, only a sort of sadness, like something lost or forgotten. Gilda has always been too trusting, too friendly - it drove Dace mad with worry - and now that little splinter of guilt in her heart makes it impossible for her to walk on. Instead, she pauses, liquid brown eyes unwavering as they trace the mangled lines of him.
"Yes," her voice is soft to match the quiet of this place that once was so busy, "My name's Gilda. Do you need help?"
@Yanhua