02-21-2022, 07:10 PM
Lillibet
Lillibet shares a small canyon clearing with a peculiar looking ring-tailed cat this evening. She’d happened upon the strange Pangean creature earlier in the night, their eyes locking for a moment to assess each other, before the ethereal woman had settled herself onto the dusted earth to simply watch. The feline hadn’t seemed too perturbed by the glowing equine who’d invaded its space, and had carried on rummaging around in dry shrub brush and the small holes in the canyon wall, presumably for whatever food called those pockmarks home. Lillibet lost track of time in the course of her viewing, but when finally the sandstone beneath her ivory belly is too cold to remain comfortable, the young sovereign rises from the earth to find somewhere warmer.
Pangea, she had learned, has no in between. The summer day’s heat will soon give way to a biting chill, and there is no scent of Fyr on the wind tonight and therefore, no hope for her furnace.
A voice calls through the canyon once, and then twice. Lillibet’s familiarity with its keeper draws an immediate smile to her gold-striped face. “Depends on who’s at the door!” she calls back playfully from somewhere nearby, close but not too close. Noise travels easily in the vastness of Pangea - they could be meandering on the opposite sides of the same canyon wall, or hundreds of yards away. She waits in silence for his rebuttal, not daring to move a muscle lest she give away her location before she’s done playing her game. A memory of her last rendezvous with Bolder flits across her mind. The scent of his closeness still lingers in her memory, and the thought of the way the lightning between them had kept them close but never touching as they lingered together at the edge of the meadow sends a shiver down her spine.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” she calls again, her words edged with coy humor as she finally begins to move forward again - methodically, quietly, but with a sense of urgency.
Not for the first time, Lillibet curses her eternal glow.
