Sol
What am I supposed to do when I want to talk about peace and understanding
But you only understand the language of violence?
But you only understand the language of violence?
Years ago, though in Sol’s mind it had only been months, her mother had recounted the attack that had occurred when she wandered too far away from her father. The stallion had cornered her alone in The Meadow and she had been lucky to leave with her life. She never strayed from her father again, not until she was an adult, and Sol had taken the cautionary tale to heart; so, when Tatter appeared, barking questions, Sol shrieked and tried to scramble away from him—tried and failed and tripped over her own clumsy feet. “Mama!” She wailed again, curling in on herself, though her mother never appeared and the only thing that answered her whimpering was the quiet rush of wind through the thin white trees.
“I don’t know where she is,” Sol mumbled into her leg, thick warm tears sliding down her cheeks, she tried curling herself into a tight little ball. “She was just here with me.” When he didn’t launch into attacking her, the filly lifted her dark head and fixed him with a stare so intense that, despite her tear-streaked face, it rivaled her dam.
“Her name is Nocturnal,” Sol told him, her ears springing forward; he looked so sad, so lost, that she slowly started getting back up and inched towards him, reaching out with her little nose—marked with a snip identical to his own—to touch it against his. She recoiled after the slight brief contact, unsure if it was welcome or not, and cocked her head to peer up at him shyly with her ruby red right eye.
“My name is Sol,” she smiled sweetly, desperate to lift the sudden blanket of absolute silence, oblivious to his grief in the innocent way only a child could be. “Just like the sun.”No Crosses Count x Nocturnal
“I don’t know where she is,” Sol mumbled into her leg, thick warm tears sliding down her cheeks, she tried curling herself into a tight little ball. “She was just here with me.” When he didn’t launch into attacking her, the filly lifted her dark head and fixed him with a stare so intense that, despite her tear-streaked face, it rivaled her dam.
“Her name is Nocturnal,” Sol told him, her ears springing forward; he looked so sad, so lost, that she slowly started getting back up and inched towards him, reaching out with her little nose—marked with a snip identical to his own—to touch it against his. She recoiled after the slight brief contact, unsure if it was welcome or not, and cocked her head to peer up at him shyly with her ruby red right eye.
“My name is Sol,” she smiled sweetly, desperate to lift the sudden blanket of absolute silence, oblivious to his grief in the innocent way only a child could be. “Just like the sun.”
sol