02-06-2016, 11:17 AM
it's strange what desire will make foolish people do.
It is almost like he is allowing her to leave him. She still fears him, fears what he will do to her if she upsets him, but she can control that fear better than she can control her power (though that is coming, since she met those three terrible beasts, since she tried to stop Beqanna from falling to them).
And recently, she feels as though he is letting her go - the noises no longer haunt her as they once did, she no longer quivers at the sight of every palomino stallion.
She hasn’t seen him in weeks but his hold is only just starting to loosen.
The filly frequents the Meadow, and she is beginning to recognise some of the other Meadow dwellers: her mother, for one, who always keeps the girl in sight (even if the girl can’t see her); a few other mares, many with children; a couple of roaming stallions who always nod to the green-and-red as it blinks past. But no names, no stories. Nothing to trace her here.
But something is different today. Something draws her - someone draws her - away from her usual pastime of trying to be invisible only when she wishes to be so (and it’s taking more time than she would have liked). He is young, like her, though seems much older; not as she does (she has aged from what he has done to her, the fear he has instilled in her young heart) but with darkness and sadness and anger. She tries to keep herself hidden - though she is hardly inconspicuous, with her green-and-red coat that appears and disappears at random.
But curiosity gets the better of her (she is the cat, surely).
“Hello” she says softly as she approaches, dark eyes wide and full of something like hunger (though it is not food she craves, but freedom). She is a yearling now, but some part of her will forever be a day old, trapped in the awfulness of her first few hours of life.
(Funny, really, that this pair have had their lives so entirely changed by the same horse, in such different ways.)
She doesn’t say anything else, not yet, not until this one reveals to her if he is to be trusted (but trust is a fickle thing, so hard to grasp yet so willing to be chased).
And recently, she feels as though he is letting her go - the noises no longer haunt her as they once did, she no longer quivers at the sight of every palomino stallion.
She hasn’t seen him in weeks but his hold is only just starting to loosen.
The filly frequents the Meadow, and she is beginning to recognise some of the other Meadow dwellers: her mother, for one, who always keeps the girl in sight (even if the girl can’t see her); a few other mares, many with children; a couple of roaming stallions who always nod to the green-and-red as it blinks past. But no names, no stories. Nothing to trace her here.
But something is different today. Something draws her - someone draws her - away from her usual pastime of trying to be invisible only when she wishes to be so (and it’s taking more time than she would have liked). He is young, like her, though seems much older; not as she does (she has aged from what he has done to her, the fear he has instilled in her young heart) but with darkness and sadness and anger. She tries to keep herself hidden - though she is hardly inconspicuous, with her green-and-red coat that appears and disappears at random.
But curiosity gets the better of her (she is the cat, surely).
“Hello” she says softly as she approaches, dark eyes wide and full of something like hunger (though it is not food she craves, but freedom). She is a yearling now, but some part of her will forever be a day old, trapped in the awfulness of her first few hours of life.
(Funny, really, that this pair have had their lives so entirely changed by the same horse, in such different ways.)
She doesn’t say anything else, not yet, not until this one reveals to her if he is to be trusted (but trust is a fickle thing, so hard to grasp yet so willing to be chased).
ELVE
![[Image: n2oih3.png]](http://i64.tinypic.com/n2oih3.png)