04-20-2016, 11:29 PM
trapped inside this twisted circle, it ain't right but it's eternal
When first she had come, she had smelled of dirt and earth and perhaps even death. It had clung to her skin like a memory, an omen, until a strange pair had ordered her into the ocean to bathe herself of it. The memory feels like it must have happened lifetimes ago, maybe even to someone else. But she can still remember it clearly. The rattle of unsteady lungs and the weight of the earth as her mother had entombed the body she thought to be dead. She remembers too the thrill of adrenaline she had felt, even then, even as a newborn, when she willed the water away so that her small grave crumbled dead around her allowing her to escape.
Now she smells of wild air, the kind that echoes the rain and wind and freedom. She smells like ocean and brine, can feel the way the salt has dried her mane in tangling curls that lay half-damp against the steel and grey of her delicate neck. There is nothing she loves more than this, more than the ocean at her feet and the wind carrying her thoughts as high as the clouds and further.
Nothing, except perhaps the lavender pegasus who has only ever been kind to her.
Just as she thinks of him, her small face swiveling to see if she might not be able to catch the sound of his voice reverberating off the stony cove walls, he calls to her. She can tell by the way it echoes off of every stone surface that he is perched somewhere high above his kingdom, so she twists towards the sound, finally graceful after years of cut legs and scraped knees. Despite the sightlessness of her milky blue eyes, she lifts her face to catch the warmth of the sunlight, frozen for a moment as the wind whips around her smelling of the deep sea.
Then she responds to him, but it is not with words, not with a return whinny as shrill as his. It is with the ocean, which she pulls towards herself like a tide, funneling the water up around her so that she is swallowed at its open center. Only when the twisting spiral is tall enough to be seen from anywhere in the cove does she release it to crash outward and away from her so that it runs in winding streams back along the beach. She knows that he will have seen her response, that he will come find her should he want to see her. Capture, blind as she is, is not made to climb the stone and shale ridges of the Coves rock walls like so many of the others can. She is made for the bright and white sediment of the beach, made for the oceans gentle, lapping waves.
CAPTURE
Now she smells of wild air, the kind that echoes the rain and wind and freedom. She smells like ocean and brine, can feel the way the salt has dried her mane in tangling curls that lay half-damp against the steel and grey of her delicate neck. There is nothing she loves more than this, more than the ocean at her feet and the wind carrying her thoughts as high as the clouds and further.
Nothing, except perhaps the lavender pegasus who has only ever been kind to her.
Just as she thinks of him, her small face swiveling to see if she might not be able to catch the sound of his voice reverberating off the stony cove walls, he calls to her. She can tell by the way it echoes off of every stone surface that he is perched somewhere high above his kingdom, so she twists towards the sound, finally graceful after years of cut legs and scraped knees. Despite the sightlessness of her milky blue eyes, she lifts her face to catch the warmth of the sunlight, frozen for a moment as the wind whips around her smelling of the deep sea.
Then she responds to him, but it is not with words, not with a return whinny as shrill as his. It is with the ocean, which she pulls towards herself like a tide, funneling the water up around her so that she is swallowed at its open center. Only when the twisting spiral is tall enough to be seen from anywhere in the cove does she release it to crash outward and away from her so that it runs in winding streams back along the beach. She knows that he will have seen her response, that he will come find her should he want to see her. Capture, blind as she is, is not made to climb the stone and shale ridges of the Coves rock walls like so many of the others can. She is made for the bright and white sediment of the beach, made for the oceans gentle, lapping waves.
azriel x swift