As she grazes, she thinks of her own upbringing. She thinks how her father left her here as a yearling, how the urgency in his eyes had kept her from questioning his motives. She remembers how strong she had seemed (to herself at least) as she strode up to Skaelleron and Corvi, how terrified she actually was, as if her tremors could split apart her carefully constructed façade.
But she has grown so self-reliant since then, that it is almost hard to remember those days. It’s equally hard for the paint girl to reach out to the others, to accept their help and familial embrace when she’s been cast out of the fold before. It would be so easy to run away from the reminder of her stolen childhood, so simple to turn her back on the Gates. Emmerly has toyed with the idea of leaving before. She’s considered filling the hole in her heart with regret and anger; she’s thought about the consequences of letting the darkness consume her. Fortunately, she knows she is no sheep. She’s faced wolves before and won, not with her bitterness, but her kindness.
The sun will always drive away shadows, but the reverse is never true.
The mare is still thinking about shadows both real and imagined when the stallion approaches. He’s uniquely colored in a kingdom of mostly wild-type horses, a blue that mimics the hazy summer sky, and her responding smile is like the sun peeking through. “I’m Emmerly, and I am quite well.” He is a stranger and doesn’t smell of the Gates, but the buckskin paint finds herself unworried. His confident trot and the way he had approached her spoke volumes of familiarity with the place.
She’s about to ask more when they are joined by a young mare. Emmerly has seen this girl around the kingdom before but she has never had a chance to formally meet her. Her deformity is unfortunate, but Em is all too familiar with scars to ever judge another for them. Her lips curl into a warm smile as she makes space for Fiasko. “Hello, I’m Emmerly.” The little gathering makes her more happy than she’s been in months. It means that life didn’t completely flee with the fire that had ravaged their home. The smell of ash grew weaker every day, replaced by the fragrance of flowers and earth. She looks from mare to stallion with her pale eyes hopeful and soft. “This place was becoming much too quiet.” It’s a general statement that she hopes they will elaborate on with either ideas or reasons why. If not, she turns to the yet-unnamed stallion. “You haven’t given your name. You aren’t spying on us, are you?” Her smile turns more into a sharper grin. There is a playfulness as well as serious concern lacing her tone. The blue-grey stallion is the kind of friendly that could be considered sincere or a serious spy. One has to be sure, these days.
Emmerly
walter x valien