06-08-2015, 03:01 PM
She'd followed the sunshine for years, watched it rise up with it's tangerine wings, it's paling light, glorious and vivid, she blinded herself everyday and come moonrise, she'd fade into the darkness, her eyes closed, her mind empty. She'd missed Beqanna's sunlit touch, she mostly missed the Tundra, she missed Viento, her grandfather, she missed Starhart, her adopted grandmother. she missed lots of things, but mostly she missed the feeling of the sun on her back, the glorious sunny wings. She never did find her mother, the winged mare, the beautiful creature she was stolen from at birth. Her scarred neck never really healed a great deal, where ivory met ebony, she was disfigured, hard flesh raised and grey, an ugly stain upon such a mottled coat. She was greying now in age, but in mind she was still young, carefree, innocent.
The years had not been kind to her, they had been long and tedious, she'd been alone, she wandered great widths of Beqanna, in search of the winged mare, her pale skin like an angel, her wings the same. She also never found the mare that had done this to her, Viento had told her in a kind, warm tone that it was hr grandmother's doing, that he would have vengeance one day. But Lirel did not acknowledge his words, to Viento, Amnesia was dead. But Lirel was sure she was alive, somewhere, anywhere.
Her years of wandering finally brought her back into an endless circle, back to the meadow where it first began. Her ash hooves slipping easily through the sand, her long monochrome mane grown unkempt and past her knees, she had feathers what she guessed came from her father, a mixture of her mother. She never truly looked at herself anymore than some black and white portrait, left on the wall, dusty and worn. Lirel was a sunlight child, optimistic and bright in a world so grey, but she also was plagued with flashbacks of blood red and black. Her little heart had grown but sadly nothing filled it, except the sun, the sun's loving touch on her cold skin.
Lirel noticed a flaw within the meadow then, a movement, a shift of the grasses, an ivory figure, like a shell, his body gleamed multi-toned, ebony, ivory, grey. She watched him, still walking, a clumsy amble, feet falling in a strangely rhythmic ricochet. Green eyes, daydreams and failed lullabies continued to survey him, unblinking in her scrutiny. Many find her stare hypnotic and unsettling, only when it clicked inside her to finally blink, did she cross his path and inhale his scent. It was famialrity, ice and snow, cold and winter's fragile breath. It was home for a while, the winter wonderland. She felt a chill quiver along her spine, but flicked it out with her tail.
"Hello." the piebald said, her voice a strange lull, like rain in the middle of summer, like blistering heat in the middle of winter. it did not go with her vacant stare and pretty disastrous face. she cocked her head to the side, this action made her mane torrent across her neck in rivulets, revealing scars long healed, but never forgotten. Thick and grey, stark against her black neck. Her ears twisted, bowed atop her poll as she lowered her head, a vague little action, a steal of grass and then back up, she munches, chews in a thoughtful way before staring back at the stallion, mouth full of grass, eyes full of whimsical daydreams, she says nothing of substance, but everything to the innocent mare's mind.
"Are you lost too?" because really, deep down, the piebald mare was one lost feather on the breeze. A butterfly with clipped wings and nowhere to fly, a home on the horizon but no map to get there.
"It all starts to look the same, don't you think?" her eyes trail over the backdrop. new shoots of green finding the trees, the ground, the rivers flowing without ice, but still with quite the chill. Beqanna never changed, in her lifetime of wanderings, or perhaps it was her that stayed the same, her greying coat the only sign of any change.
The years had not been kind to her, they had been long and tedious, she'd been alone, she wandered great widths of Beqanna, in search of the winged mare, her pale skin like an angel, her wings the same. She also never found the mare that had done this to her, Viento had told her in a kind, warm tone that it was hr grandmother's doing, that he would have vengeance one day. But Lirel did not acknowledge his words, to Viento, Amnesia was dead. But Lirel was sure she was alive, somewhere, anywhere.
Her years of wandering finally brought her back into an endless circle, back to the meadow where it first began. Her ash hooves slipping easily through the sand, her long monochrome mane grown unkempt and past her knees, she had feathers what she guessed came from her father, a mixture of her mother. She never truly looked at herself anymore than some black and white portrait, left on the wall, dusty and worn. Lirel was a sunlight child, optimistic and bright in a world so grey, but she also was plagued with flashbacks of blood red and black. Her little heart had grown but sadly nothing filled it, except the sun, the sun's loving touch on her cold skin.
Lirel noticed a flaw within the meadow then, a movement, a shift of the grasses, an ivory figure, like a shell, his body gleamed multi-toned, ebony, ivory, grey. She watched him, still walking, a clumsy amble, feet falling in a strangely rhythmic ricochet. Green eyes, daydreams and failed lullabies continued to survey him, unblinking in her scrutiny. Many find her stare hypnotic and unsettling, only when it clicked inside her to finally blink, did she cross his path and inhale his scent. It was famialrity, ice and snow, cold and winter's fragile breath. It was home for a while, the winter wonderland. She felt a chill quiver along her spine, but flicked it out with her tail.
"Hello." the piebald said, her voice a strange lull, like rain in the middle of summer, like blistering heat in the middle of winter. it did not go with her vacant stare and pretty disastrous face. she cocked her head to the side, this action made her mane torrent across her neck in rivulets, revealing scars long healed, but never forgotten. Thick and grey, stark against her black neck. Her ears twisted, bowed atop her poll as she lowered her head, a vague little action, a steal of grass and then back up, she munches, chews in a thoughtful way before staring back at the stallion, mouth full of grass, eyes full of whimsical daydreams, she says nothing of substance, but everything to the innocent mare's mind.
"Are you lost too?" because really, deep down, the piebald mare was one lost feather on the breeze. A butterfly with clipped wings and nowhere to fly, a home on the horizon but no map to get there.
"It all starts to look the same, don't you think?" her eyes trail over the backdrop. new shoots of green finding the trees, the ground, the rivers flowing without ice, but still with quite the chill. Beqanna never changed, in her lifetime of wanderings, or perhaps it was her that stayed the same, her greying coat the only sign of any change.
