12-30-2015, 04:49 PM
Gray. Everything is gray. A haze hangs over the ground; a fog, thick and distinct, settles itself around her. It shapes to her shoulders, her hips, around the delicate bones of her face. Her fur – born dark, lightened to smoke-silver – blends. The color ripples, seems to bulge slightly against the fog, then settles on dull and nondescript. Her eyes are the only thing that doesn't fade into the fog like camouflage; they remain a deep, chocolate brown as she peers, seemingly unaware of her body's changes, into the field. Her tail flashes, once then twice, against her hips, disturbing the fog and in that moment, she surges forward.
Years away from her homeland had dulled her memories of this place, but as she steps through the dry, winter grasses, the memories rush to the forefront. She follows the edge of the trees, hunting for something... then, there! She brushes the grass with her nose, whuffing gently. Here, she had pushed life into the world for the first time. Alone, she had pushed and pushed until finally, a cry of new breath and the young mare had looked for the first time at her daughter's wild face. She was shocked at the flames that flickered, dull, along the babe's neck and hips where a mane and tail should have rested. Fearfully, she had touched the flames and with relief, had found them cold – then after relief came another rush of fear. Bidelia had always been a shy mare. Her gift had kept her hidden, allowing her to blend into her surroundings, watching the world go by without it noticing her. Now, this child was a stand-out!
She gives a sharp shake of her mane, disturbing the memory, knocking away the rush of emotions that comes from remembering. Her coat wildly shifts from silver to green-brown in an attempt to match the winter trees, displaying her anxiety. With a snort, she takes off at a fast lope, frozen ground crunching beneath her. Unbidden, she recalls, years after she last heard her daughter's voice, hearing another baby's gentle voice – this time, her son, her blissfully average, innocent little son. Yet, he was gone too. She struggles to remember why, but can only remember chafing at the need to be someone's constant something.
When the fog begins to dissipate, she slows down and then finally, stops. Her coat wavers and returns to her natural silver-gray, her mane and tail settle dark and heavy against her skin. She closes her eyes against the memories still pressing against her skull and breathes in deeply, once, then twice.
Years away from her homeland had dulled her memories of this place, but as she steps through the dry, winter grasses, the memories rush to the forefront. She follows the edge of the trees, hunting for something... then, there! She brushes the grass with her nose, whuffing gently. Here, she had pushed life into the world for the first time. Alone, she had pushed and pushed until finally, a cry of new breath and the young mare had looked for the first time at her daughter's wild face. She was shocked at the flames that flickered, dull, along the babe's neck and hips where a mane and tail should have rested. Fearfully, she had touched the flames and with relief, had found them cold – then after relief came another rush of fear. Bidelia had always been a shy mare. Her gift had kept her hidden, allowing her to blend into her surroundings, watching the world go by without it noticing her. Now, this child was a stand-out!
She gives a sharp shake of her mane, disturbing the memory, knocking away the rush of emotions that comes from remembering. Her coat wildly shifts from silver to green-brown in an attempt to match the winter trees, displaying her anxiety. With a snort, she takes off at a fast lope, frozen ground crunching beneath her. Unbidden, she recalls, years after she last heard her daughter's voice, hearing another baby's gentle voice – this time, her son, her blissfully average, innocent little son. Yet, he was gone too. She struggles to remember why, but can only remember chafing at the need to be someone's constant something.
When the fog begins to dissipate, she slows down and then finally, stops. Her coat wavers and returns to her natural silver-gray, her mane and tail settle dark and heavy against her skin. She closes her eyes against the memories still pressing against her skull and breathes in deeply, once, then twice.