01-05-2016, 02:42 PM
it's strange what desire will make foolish people do.
She feels like, with every passing moment, she is growing stronger, her defiance beginning to seep back into her bones like damp (or maybe that is a trick of her mind, this other stallion allowing her to feel this way). Her trembling is largely under control, her mind can finally concentrate on something other than fear. She cannot bring herself, still, to look him in the eyes - that still scares her, for who knows what she may see in that gaze. She does not want to find out, not just yet.
He shifts, and the bright filly shifts too - backwards, away, as if making herself smaller could change anything that has happened, anything that will happen. He laughs (the sound he makes will forever haunt the filly), and his words untangle in her brain and she frowns. But she does not - cannot - reply to him; she doesn’t want to be punished, and she fears that saying the wrong thing will cause him to punish her. Maybe even saying the right thing. She feels that he is unlikely to be concerned about doling punishment out.
Then, suddenly, his face is in hers, and she can smell his breath, and she tries to stop herself from breathing it in, just in case it can poison her as he poisoned her mind with fear. She struggles, trying to lift her gaze, to glare at him, but she can’t. She manages, barely, to flick her eyes upwards, locking onto his for a moment, before they drop and she sinks even further into her hocks. She tries again, and again; she knows she must look foolish but she feels as though if she can do this - if she can take that one tiniest of steps and look him in the eyes - then she can break whatever spell he has cast on her.
But she can’t do it, and the spell remains intact.
Two more questions - and two more answers she cannot give. She doesn’t know this land well enough to say where she left her poor mother, she doesn’t know the paths and so could never lead this golden stallion back. As for names, ha. How could this invisible girl, who gave her mother a mere glimpse of her green and red coat before she turned away, newborn mind filled with adventure, have a name? For the first time, she thinks of her mother - allowing herself just a brief moment, her pink and green coat, her look of horror.
Maybe she has not got the skills this stallion possesses, but the little filly has frightened at least one horse in such a short time.
“I don’t know,” she repeats, and her gaze drops even lower. “I just left her, and I never got a name.” She wonders how the orphan foals get names.
She realises she is no better off than the orphan foals. In fact, she is likely doing worse than most.
He shifts, and the bright filly shifts too - backwards, away, as if making herself smaller could change anything that has happened, anything that will happen. He laughs (the sound he makes will forever haunt the filly), and his words untangle in her brain and she frowns. But she does not - cannot - reply to him; she doesn’t want to be punished, and she fears that saying the wrong thing will cause him to punish her. Maybe even saying the right thing. She feels that he is unlikely to be concerned about doling punishment out.
Then, suddenly, his face is in hers, and she can smell his breath, and she tries to stop herself from breathing it in, just in case it can poison her as he poisoned her mind with fear. She struggles, trying to lift her gaze, to glare at him, but she can’t. She manages, barely, to flick her eyes upwards, locking onto his for a moment, before they drop and she sinks even further into her hocks. She tries again, and again; she knows she must look foolish but she feels as though if she can do this - if she can take that one tiniest of steps and look him in the eyes - then she can break whatever spell he has cast on her.
But she can’t do it, and the spell remains intact.
Two more questions - and two more answers she cannot give. She doesn’t know this land well enough to say where she left her poor mother, she doesn’t know the paths and so could never lead this golden stallion back. As for names, ha. How could this invisible girl, who gave her mother a mere glimpse of her green and red coat before she turned away, newborn mind filled with adventure, have a name? For the first time, she thinks of her mother - allowing herself just a brief moment, her pink and green coat, her look of horror.
Maybe she has not got the skills this stallion possesses, but the little filly has frightened at least one horse in such a short time.
“I don’t know,” she repeats, and her gaze drops even lower. “I just left her, and I never got a name.” She wonders how the orphan foals get names.
She realises she is no better off than the orphan foals. In fact, she is likely doing worse than most.
ELVE
![[Image: n2oih3.png]](http://i64.tinypic.com/n2oih3.png)