10-23-2016, 08:39 PM
Ichor misses them too; longs for the cocoon of her mother and the river that rocked her in Karris’ womb. She longs too, for the familiarity of Elysium’s face - so like hers, though she saw it only once before the Mountain cast them all out of their original skins and made them like this, painfully plain. Gone is her moth-attributes and the gills that allowed her to breathe beneath the river’s fast currents, and Ichor feels pitifully normal. No - she feels bereft, stripped of her strange gifts, but can she blame the Mountain for its anger?
(Maybe.)
(She harbors a smidgen of anger at the Mountain for the things it has stolen from her, how rude!)
She has soft fur instead of flaky scales for skin; horse eyes instead of a moth’s compound eyes though the color of them is still black; and her throat is uninterrupted by gills. Ichor knows that she is supposed to be something other than the thing that she is now - a tiny horse on matchstick legs. She knows too, that she is not the only one of their ilk - there are others that bear the mark of lamprey and moth, and it is them that she knowingly seeks in tottering determined steps.
(They seek her; blood calls to blood after all.)
The first is the spitting image of her, kind of.
Slim and slender in her gold champagne dress, and Ichor is almost instantly envious of her because she is tiny, thin, and all legs. She fails to recognize that this is how all foals are in their earliest stages of life, because Ichor is desperate to evolve back into her moth-form and thinks that it will afford her a loveliness that she is lacking, albeit a garish loveliness of course.
(How she knows that she was something else in Karris’ womb is a mystery, but she knows she was never wholly a horse like she is now.)
She squints; there is another horse but she recognizes this one! The mottled brown is Min but she looks different, funny somehow, because she is missing her lamprey mouth and now she just looks.... Boring. Ichor mimes a sigh but little to no air actually leaves her mouth, it just opens then closes all in the same instant. Besides, Min has been avoiding her as of late…
Ichor has to bite back the laughter that bubbles up on her tongue; Min sounds positively hilarious trying to talk around all those normal dull grass-eating teeth! Of course, it’s not like Ichor has tried to talk now that she lacks her nectar-seeking tongue that did not hold the same shape as a horse’s tongue… She also bites back the urge to well, bite Min. The filly feels like she has to chastise her somehow for avoiding her for so long. All Ichor longed to do was tag along after her sister, and harass her like all annoying little sisters do. But Min was crafty, and quicker too! Ichor never could catch her, and she was often reluctant to stray too far from Karris’ milk-giving side for too long.
(Yes, it confused her that she needed milk but feels the prompt to seek out nectar from the sweet sleepy heads of flowers that nod hello to her when she walks by them, almost like they know they can tease the memory of her moth-self from deep inside her plain dull horseflesh.)
Ichor narrows her eyes and looks between the two of them; there are similarities that each of the three of them bear towards one another and most importantly, towards Elysium and Karris, the fountainheads of their unique line. “Mehbe she c-can’t?” Oh look, Ichor has trouble talking too! Seems she even developed a slight stutter as she tries to fathom speech from this foreign mouth of hers.
(Maybe.)
(She harbors a smidgen of anger at the Mountain for the things it has stolen from her, how rude!)
She has soft fur instead of flaky scales for skin; horse eyes instead of a moth’s compound eyes though the color of them is still black; and her throat is uninterrupted by gills. Ichor knows that she is supposed to be something other than the thing that she is now - a tiny horse on matchstick legs. She knows too, that she is not the only one of their ilk - there are others that bear the mark of lamprey and moth, and it is them that she knowingly seeks in tottering determined steps.
(They seek her; blood calls to blood after all.)
The first is the spitting image of her, kind of.
Slim and slender in her gold champagne dress, and Ichor is almost instantly envious of her because she is tiny, thin, and all legs. She fails to recognize that this is how all foals are in their earliest stages of life, because Ichor is desperate to evolve back into her moth-form and thinks that it will afford her a loveliness that she is lacking, albeit a garish loveliness of course.
(How she knows that she was something else in Karris’ womb is a mystery, but she knows she was never wholly a horse like she is now.)
She squints; there is another horse but she recognizes this one! The mottled brown is Min but she looks different, funny somehow, because she is missing her lamprey mouth and now she just looks.... Boring. Ichor mimes a sigh but little to no air actually leaves her mouth, it just opens then closes all in the same instant. Besides, Min has been avoiding her as of late…
Ichor has to bite back the laughter that bubbles up on her tongue; Min sounds positively hilarious trying to talk around all those normal dull grass-eating teeth! Of course, it’s not like Ichor has tried to talk now that she lacks her nectar-seeking tongue that did not hold the same shape as a horse’s tongue… She also bites back the urge to well, bite Min. The filly feels like she has to chastise her somehow for avoiding her for so long. All Ichor longed to do was tag along after her sister, and harass her like all annoying little sisters do. But Min was crafty, and quicker too! Ichor never could catch her, and she was often reluctant to stray too far from Karris’ milk-giving side for too long.
(Yes, it confused her that she needed milk but feels the prompt to seek out nectar from the sweet sleepy heads of flowers that nod hello to her when she walks by them, almost like they know they can tease the memory of her moth-self from deep inside her plain dull horseflesh.)
Ichor narrows her eyes and looks between the two of them; there are similarities that each of the three of them bear towards one another and most importantly, towards Elysium and Karris, the fountainheads of their unique line. “Mehbe she c-can’t?” Oh look, Ichor has trouble talking too! Seems she even developed a slight stutter as she tries to fathom speech from this foreign mouth of hers.