Perhaps she should feel different. Something was certainly missing when she has risen from her place amongst the pine needles, sticky and frustrating. But the length of her pale mane seemed to fall in just the right place as her dark blue eyes peek from beneath the cover like a shy filly.
But those years are long passed.
Epithet had tried to summon herself amongst the stars. She wanted to disappear for a swath of time, to see if anyone really noticed her frail existence but all she could do was muster the shape of a hummingbird. Glittering and fast, Epi moves over land and sea. Where had she gone in her sleep the night before? How long had she slept? None of it matters now.
When the pale gray mare smoothly moves from avian to equine with the ease of decades of practice. Dark stocking legs moves her along as she hold her head high, the stream of her white mane like a peaceful banner spread before the winning side of a war. Yet the mare does not retreat. Instead she eagerly inhales the cold autumn air, lets it burn her lungs with ice, the beat of her heart echoing in her ears.
On this day, a day of strange renewal, of unanswered questions, of chance, the scent of her child...beautiful Leola. Her careful coal child. "Leola?" Her name blooms like a calla lily in spring from her tongue. Perhaps it is an empty inquiry but Epithet could always feel when her babes were close. Dark eyes scan the meadow hastily. Would her shadow daughter find her?
Epithet