02-06-2016, 09:33 AM
it's strange what desire will make foolish people do.
Every passing moment tears her in two.
Half of her is relaxing - the longer she is away, the safer she is. With each second that ticks by, the threat is less imminent, and she is more free.
Half of her is more terrified, because the longer she is away, the greater his wrath will be when they meet again. The little she knows of him tells her he is not a reasonable stallion; she should turn tail, keep running, but this mare keeps her here (like he kept her).
The two halves of her wish to slink away from each other, as if they could cleave her apart.
At least then he might not be able to find her.
The lightning that crackles around the silver mare suddenly disappears, sinking into her coat like water into a sponge - she almost seems to grow. The closer the mare gets, the more the filly knows she should leave, but she cannot. Perhaps this is her destiny; to forever be attracted to things that may cause her harm (and she knows this mare may cause her harm, but she does not want to believe it).
But then she promises protection, and the green-and-red filly suddenly wants to believe, that there is good in this world, that she can be safe again (but safe with this magician may not be the sort of safe the filly dreams of).
She nods, because she is too overwhelmed to speak - no-one has ever wanted to protect her before (what a lie; the mother she ran from would protect her).
“It’s Elve,” she replies, and the word is still bitter in her mouth; it is his word, his name for her. But she has no other name so she uses it, though it sits heavy on her heart, unwanted and unwelcomed (much like she feels she is).
“Who are you?”
She wants to stay silent now, but she can’t; things hang just out of her reach, but she must grasp them and grip them tightly. “Could you really protect me?” she asks, not wanting to offend the mare but needing to know, for certain, that she is no longer alone (and needing to push aside the distrust that sours her thoughts of this mare, of all horses).
Half of her is relaxing - the longer she is away, the safer she is. With each second that ticks by, the threat is less imminent, and she is more free.
Half of her is more terrified, because the longer she is away, the greater his wrath will be when they meet again. The little she knows of him tells her he is not a reasonable stallion; she should turn tail, keep running, but this mare keeps her here (like he kept her).
The two halves of her wish to slink away from each other, as if they could cleave her apart.
At least then he might not be able to find her.
The lightning that crackles around the silver mare suddenly disappears, sinking into her coat like water into a sponge - she almost seems to grow. The closer the mare gets, the more the filly knows she should leave, but she cannot. Perhaps this is her destiny; to forever be attracted to things that may cause her harm (and she knows this mare may cause her harm, but she does not want to believe it).
But then she promises protection, and the green-and-red filly suddenly wants to believe, that there is good in this world, that she can be safe again (but safe with this magician may not be the sort of safe the filly dreams of).
She nods, because she is too overwhelmed to speak - no-one has ever wanted to protect her before (what a lie; the mother she ran from would protect her).
“It’s Elve,” she replies, and the word is still bitter in her mouth; it is his word, his name for her. But she has no other name so she uses it, though it sits heavy on her heart, unwanted and unwelcomed (much like she feels she is).
“Who are you?”
She wants to stay silent now, but she can’t; things hang just out of her reach, but she must grasp them and grip them tightly. “Could you really protect me?” she asks, not wanting to offend the mare but needing to know, for certain, that she is no longer alone (and needing to push aside the distrust that sours her thoughts of this mare, of all horses).
ELVE
![[Image: n2oih3.png]](http://i64.tinypic.com/n2oih3.png)