Volcan
Burn slow, burning up the back wall
Long roads, where the city meets the sky
Long roads, where the city meets the sky
The apparitionist turns out to be nothing of the kind, and Volcan spots her the moment she turns to face her; the young girl, barely two years if she was a day, felt foolish for having over reacted so. Especially in the presence of a clearly anxious woman who, for all intents and purposes, knew infinitely more about this world than Volcan did, or maybe ever would. But it’s too late for reintroductions, and as the quivering mare steps forward and out of the shadows, it seems to be too late for retreat, too.
“I am not accustomed to this environment. I apologize.” The deep thrum of her words is a juxtaposition to the gangliness of her tarnished silver body, and the content of those same words, even more so; but Volcan, having been held in the fourth dimension and then born from the sands, has always been like this. Somber. Cautious. Eccentric. She is Scorch come again - and like Scorch, she hasn’t a clue of this fact.
“A pleasure to meet you, Malka.” Without any warning, a little breeze of magic drifts their way, and the smoke girl’s introduction takes a turn for the less-truthful. Somewhere, a beautiful black mare laughs. “I am Vol. Daughter of Vanquish.” Unlike Malka, the girl-woman is comfortable adding a little title to her name; but again, unlike Malka, Volcan has somewhere that she legitimately belongs. Malka does not.
“Are you from the Jungle?” Her eyes wander to the bold red flower which decorates the overo’s twitching breast. “Father told me of the tattoos the Sisterhood bare.” Her ear twitches, and on the very tip of it, a flash of tattooed flame appears. Heritage works funnily in that way; visible to the whole world except her. “I’ve yet to meet one, which is why I ask.”
This is not the end, this is just the world
Such a foolish thing, such an honest girl
Such a foolish thing, such an honest girl
lava texture © Mavrosh-Stock