07-17-2016, 11:13 PM
i counted the stars tonight, i gathered them all
Her pale eyes flick around the decaying scenery. The leaves are dead, the grasses yellow, the need for something more has been a tingling little nag in the back of her mind. It’s daylight, slowly the other, horses, the word is a menace in itself, bitter, foul, it tastes like shit, they creep closer. Almost as if they know she is there, just behind the leaves, the few bushes shielding her from their nasty looks, and rotten words. It’s not enough anymore, they want her, they look for her, they find her. One almost destroyed her little patch, another demanded her secrets, still another… the scar on her right shoulder tingles in memory.
She douses it all, it is time, she knows this, she doesn’t want it. She glowers, her jaw set, her lips and lids squeeze tight, she dashes wildly. Going deeper, past the trees, the branches lurch snagging her mane whipping her hide, scratching her skin bloody. The red roan runs like a madman, as far and as fast as she possibly can. She needs to get away from others, she does not want the old man with snake eyes, she does not want to child with flames, she does not want the mother with teal. At this she falters, stumbling to a stop. Yes child, you remember us. Her nostrils wrinkle in distaste. The voices, they are always there, a shadow that curved, and meandered along her side.
She wonders at where she is, this is not the place that she has spent her three-year lifetime, this is not the place that she has grown to know, and recognize. The smells are revolting, the scenery is tedious, and the horses…. She looks for them, at first there are none. At this she relaxes, she could make a new nest, she could begin again, there would be no encroaching visitors. She would not need to be social, until… the disturbance in the gurgling water makes her swivel her head around. There they were, she glowers cold eyes at them. How dare they The deeply sinister voice growls into her ear.
All she wants is peace, quiet, nobody, nothing, just herself. At least then she can talk to her voices and calm them down, they don’t rage in her ear, crying, begging, demanding her attention, not like they do when others are around. The black horn does not glow in these moments, the starlight is not present to wrap itself around the spiraling spike, and radiate from it. At these moments, her black tips stand contrast to the red and cream of the rest of her. Her body is sleek, her legs thin, her mane and tail long full of luster. Her hips are full, and she is. female. No longer the spindly little filly at her mother’s side, glassy eyed, begging to the stars. Her eyes still pale, swirling with starlight, having taken on a sharper, slightly darker definition, with the black rimming tracing the threshold of her coloring, and the whites that surround it.
It’s not like she has had a terrible life, certainly nothing to complain about, and up till now she has never even considered anything worthy of emotion. Lately horses have been poking and prodding, curious, and pushy, its driving her insane. A new feeling was discovered through this, it boils, and chills, it sits low, tensing her muscles, making her nerves crawl out of her skin. This started when her first season happened, not that long ago. The writhing heat was unbearable, the pain, the sweat, the itch, and burn, she could not understand it, could not know exactly what it is that she has experienced, all she does know is that she hopes it is over for good. Because right after, the bleeding started, first the dizziness was almost too much, but then trying to get up, her legs shook, and her head spun. How she lived, she could not guess, was she crazy for experiencing this?
Since then she had cleaned up, lost the last of her baby fluff, filled out, and her mane/tail had lengthened. Now she stands before two horses, both of them smell different from her mother, and herself. Its puzzling, slightly intriguing, though there is no way for her to understand just what it is. It makes her step forward, Nevi She tastes the word, but says nothing more. There is no indication of what it feels like, because all she does know is the crawling doesn’t happen when she says it. So it must be a good thing right? She cocks her head slightly watching them, stepping a little closer until the water laps just at her dainty hooves. They reach for her, but never do they make it, they like everything else can never quite touch her.
She douses it all, it is time, she knows this, she doesn’t want it. She glowers, her jaw set, her lips and lids squeeze tight, she dashes wildly. Going deeper, past the trees, the branches lurch snagging her mane whipping her hide, scratching her skin bloody. The red roan runs like a madman, as far and as fast as she possibly can. She needs to get away from others, she does not want the old man with snake eyes, she does not want to child with flames, she does not want the mother with teal. At this she falters, stumbling to a stop. Yes child, you remember us. Her nostrils wrinkle in distaste. The voices, they are always there, a shadow that curved, and meandered along her side.
She wonders at where she is, this is not the place that she has spent her three-year lifetime, this is not the place that she has grown to know, and recognize. The smells are revolting, the scenery is tedious, and the horses…. She looks for them, at first there are none. At this she relaxes, she could make a new nest, she could begin again, there would be no encroaching visitors. She would not need to be social, until… the disturbance in the gurgling water makes her swivel her head around. There they were, she glowers cold eyes at them. How dare they The deeply sinister voice growls into her ear.
All she wants is peace, quiet, nobody, nothing, just herself. At least then she can talk to her voices and calm them down, they don’t rage in her ear, crying, begging, demanding her attention, not like they do when others are around. The black horn does not glow in these moments, the starlight is not present to wrap itself around the spiraling spike, and radiate from it. At these moments, her black tips stand contrast to the red and cream of the rest of her. Her body is sleek, her legs thin, her mane and tail long full of luster. Her hips are full, and she is. female. No longer the spindly little filly at her mother’s side, glassy eyed, begging to the stars. Her eyes still pale, swirling with starlight, having taken on a sharper, slightly darker definition, with the black rimming tracing the threshold of her coloring, and the whites that surround it.
It’s not like she has had a terrible life, certainly nothing to complain about, and up till now she has never even considered anything worthy of emotion. Lately horses have been poking and prodding, curious, and pushy, its driving her insane. A new feeling was discovered through this, it boils, and chills, it sits low, tensing her muscles, making her nerves crawl out of her skin. This started when her first season happened, not that long ago. The writhing heat was unbearable, the pain, the sweat, the itch, and burn, she could not understand it, could not know exactly what it is that she has experienced, all she does know is that she hopes it is over for good. Because right after, the bleeding started, first the dizziness was almost too much, but then trying to get up, her legs shook, and her head spun. How she lived, she could not guess, was she crazy for experiencing this?
Since then she had cleaned up, lost the last of her baby fluff, filled out, and her mane/tail had lengthened. Now she stands before two horses, both of them smell different from her mother, and herself. Its puzzling, slightly intriguing, though there is no way for her to understand just what it is. It makes her step forward, Nevi She tastes the word, but says nothing more. There is no indication of what it feels like, because all she does know is the crawling doesn’t happen when she says it. So it must be a good thing right? She cocks her head slightly watching them, stepping a little closer until the water laps just at her dainty hooves. They reach for her, but never do they make it, they like everything else can never quite touch her.
Oricle
so will you hold cause time is cold
but in your soul im standing by
but in your soul im standing by
