01-09-2023, 04:11 PM
The night she was born stars lanced across the darkness of the sky to announce her arrival. Another oddity in a world full of strangeness and magic. Her mother named her Whim. A capricious, happy child raised with the wildflowers of the Pampas.
She returns now, the pale blue of her body glowing softly in the evening light.
The Pampas had always been a quiet place when she was growing up. Now it is one of the last safe places of their world. There are strangers here she does not recognize. Scents mingled with the fragrance of the red flowers. Still, there are trails she does recognize wending through the grasses. As she traces the lines of one, memories drift to meet her - the softness of her mother's muzzle on her forehead. The gentle presense of her father.
As familiar as this land is to her, it is also alien. Not a mockery of her chilhood home, but a misplaced piece perhaps. She decides she should not try to force this place to bend its shape to her memories, but to see it as it is; changed.
She hears the trickle of a stream - sees the coolness of it - and realizes her thirst. She lowers her lips to the surface, ears swiveling to catch nearby sounds. There is the flit of birds and the low buzz of insects in the fading light. And then there is something else. She raises her head towards the sound.
She returns now, the pale blue of her body glowing softly in the evening light.
The Pampas had always been a quiet place when she was growing up. Now it is one of the last safe places of their world. There are strangers here she does not recognize. Scents mingled with the fragrance of the red flowers. Still, there are trails she does recognize wending through the grasses. As she traces the lines of one, memories drift to meet her - the softness of her mother's muzzle on her forehead. The gentle presense of her father.
As familiar as this land is to her, it is also alien. Not a mockery of her chilhood home, but a misplaced piece perhaps. She decides she should not try to force this place to bend its shape to her memories, but to see it as it is; changed.
She hears the trickle of a stream - sees the coolness of it - and realizes her thirst. She lowers her lips to the surface, ears swiveling to catch nearby sounds. There is the flit of birds and the low buzz of insects in the fading light. And then there is something else. She raises her head towards the sound.