With her eyes cast to the mouth of the cave Nayl sees Sunday follow in step. They exchange glances and the piebald nods plainly but doesn’t yet reply. She hears what the mare says and tries to digest every word – every letter – of it before she even considers what to say. That one simple statement leaves her reminiscing of the humid storms that would periodically roll through the Jungle and how it would kiss Nayl’s sleek skin. There was a wild ferocity in their home that Nerine lacks. Here, they are left exposed and unguarded by the towering trees and babbling river. Here, they aren’t even Amazons. The sense of the word has quickly faded and Nayl breathes a heavy sigh before mustering the strength to speak.
”I won’t,” she admits with a hollow ring in her voice, ”I can’t.” It hurts to say this. There is a burning knife burying deeper into her heart with every breath she takes as she believes herself more and more. What had initially been preconceived doubts is now poison trickling throughout her veins and darkening her mind. ”This isn’t the sisterhood we know,” and now she wonders if she was replying to Sunday in regards to the land itself or the group of mares within.
Her autumn eyes blink heavily before rolling to stare placidly at her herd sister. ”It will never be the same,” but isn’t this what Beqanna wanted? It wants them to begin anew and to create something greater than they had. So why does this seem worse than what they had? Why does this seem like punishment rather than a Godsend? Her body shifts as a crack of lightning streaks the sky, illuminating the darkening cave. ”I don’t know what to make of this,” she is painfully honest and her shoulders roll in a questioning shrug, ”Do you?”
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