06-01-2015, 03:51 AM
 Black tipped ears twitch, shifting like twin peak radar, they listen, they hear all, but they only pick out what they want to hear sometimes. She was deaf, the sort of deafness you put on when you only wanted to hear good things, the things that complimented you, the things that defined you and made you think, "Oh, I'm not that bad." No, she was being deaf this time because she was blocking out the past, the pain that clung to her like some disease to a tree. Black and imposing, it ate away at her insides until they were like jelly, a mass of nothing but a grey oblivion where her soul would have been. The disease was her family, what little it seemed. The black mare before her, her orange eyes staring right through her as though she was some figment of a nightmare, a dream. She was a disease, or more like a broken arm. Given time, it would heal, but first you needed to sort things out. Sorting things out here, Nyryn thought, was completely removing the problem. Only then could she move on, not feel such a heavy weight upon her shoulders. It was doing terrible things for her back... Nyryn's nose twitched, lips twisting into some sort of a smile, but then decided against it, and kept a plain, neutral mask. A facade of a brilliant little actress. She turned to the iron lady, with a new intrigue, her shoulders completely turning with her. There was no Lye. There was no history, there was just now. "Lagertha. Of the Amazons." her tongue tastes, it swallows her name, storing it in her mind. An Iron lady with a face strong with authority, a tone that bore down like the General she added to her title. Nyryn cast a quick stare Lye's way and her two-toned eyes narrowed upon her. She was a lost little daydream, a night terror in the evening. Her mind addled with problems, her orange eyes a stark reminder that she was never wanted. Nyryn wanted to shake her then, grab her by the withers and give her a good shake, ridding her of that selfish notion. No, they were all forgotten, and they were never wanted, she was not that special little snowflake that was cast aside because she was different. They were cast aside because their mother was the problem, not them. A bitter pill she swallowed then, perhaps it had taken too long, but the blue roan had finally managed it. "Ignore her. She nags like some fly, demanding your attention. I'm sure she just needs a good swatting." The winged mare shook her head, her dark mane curtaining her face, so none of them saw the darkness creep in her eyes. "Leave, Lye. Go back to sleep. Go back to where you've been hiding." And she does. The black shadow of the mare retreats, her orange eyes like slits, but her head was low. It's a wound that her sister had just poured immeasurable amounts of salt in, and now, she was standing there with the coldest of glares, rubbing it right in. Oh she'll remember this. She'll remember that look, she'll remember those words. She'd imagine that her mother's words would have sounded the same, if she had ever been able to speak. Cold, like ice, grabbing her mind and never letting go. Lye vanishes then, an unsteady limp in her hind, hardly the most magnificent of exits, but it doesn't take long before the trees engulf her. Nyryn watched her leave, the chill from the winter's breeze embracing her, but clutching at her cold little heart. It made some sort of a spasm in her chest. Guilt? She was uncertain, but she knew that this was the start of unburdening some of the dreadful baggage she was accumulating over the years. Her eyes find Lagertha and as if the black mare had never entered the meadow, Nyryn answered. "I've had some unnecessary baggage weigh me down over the years, Lagertha. It seems I feel a little lighter now." there was some sort of admission there, some sort of hidden meaning, as to why she sent the mare away. The winged girl casts a quick glance back to the shadows, the broken boughs of trees. She'd been hiding in there, the orange eyed one, cold and lost in her own little nightmare -- she'd live, she'd survive. The sad part was that that was it, she would live, she would survive. A curse immortality was. A real kick in the teeth, when you despised the world you were allowed to live forever in. "I'm Nyryn." for a moment she had an image of Orange Country, a flash of the painted Hakeem, then the warmth subsided and flashes of the steed that approached her in the field. Her stay at the Forest Frontiers was inevitably temporary. She was not the grandest at interaction, especially with a man that was strangely flippant. She didn't know where she stood, and that was saying something of the mare that drifted along the breeze. "Of nowhere." |
Nyryn