i swore that i'd never let you back in
In the very distance, or so what it seems to give the impression of being far away, the birds are singing a sweet morning melody. The presence of dawn had arisen quite early this spring day than the passing winter days. Sunlight had already lit up the horizon. It had been a slow pace, as if winter held back the warmth of the sun, making its way above the treeline of the forest that borders one side of the meadow.
So far it looked to be a warm and a promising day.
She yawns absentmindedly, watching the rise of the sun with hazelnut eyes. It feels like she has been asleep for a thousand years, and in truth, it likely has been that. She does not recall the last time she has been in Beqanna, but it had been enough for her to feel the memories of her birthplace slipping away. However, that was one of the shortcomings of being an immortal soul. She is not an old soul though, at least compared to those that have been gifted (or cursed, depending on who you spoke to) with immortality.
But something had changed her.
When she came back to Beqanna, the world had pulled at her body—it felt like she was being torn apart, like her limbs were not hers to move anymore. Her life slowly began to be pulled away from her, uncoiling the energy from her body and all the things that had made her feel so young. And along with that went with her beautifully, sharpen horn. All she had left was a pair of wings (thankfully, she had thought once her transition had occurred).
While the transition had been unexpected, and rather painful, she is left uncertain of what to think of it. Beqanna had indeed changed, but to what extent she has no idea. It is only here, in the meadow, this morning that she tries to figure it out. Waiting patiently for someone (anyone) to inform her of what has happened here. It was with an open mind, and deep wishing, that she hopes to find it has not changed much.
Then again, anything was possible in Beqanna.
And even waiting, patiently, no one does come to find her. She is not simply dishearten by the lack of others seeking her out. After all, not everyone was a morning bird like her. If it was possible she would stay up all night and day. Doing what exactly she had no idea, but she had always found the simplest of things to thrill her young and eager heart and mind.
The mare sets out from her spot held for many hours, wandering towards here and there across the meadow. A promising day indeed was on her side. The sight of the winged stallion draws her attention in the distance. He hoovers down clumsily, but catches himself in a manner that looks effortless to her. A smile crosses her soft lips at that. She shifts her line of direction towards him, closing the distance between them with a quick pace.
“Hello there,” she calls out to him as she draws closer to him. Her simple smile has not faded from her lips. In fact, the winged mare is smiling ear to ear. She is glad to finally find someone (maybe this someone would have the answers, she thought). “I’m Abelia,” she greets and at last comes to a stop in front of the silver smoky stallion.
So far it looked to be a warm and a promising day.
She yawns absentmindedly, watching the rise of the sun with hazelnut eyes. It feels like she has been asleep for a thousand years, and in truth, it likely has been that. She does not recall the last time she has been in Beqanna, but it had been enough for her to feel the memories of her birthplace slipping away. However, that was one of the shortcomings of being an immortal soul. She is not an old soul though, at least compared to those that have been gifted (or cursed, depending on who you spoke to) with immortality.
But something had changed her.
When she came back to Beqanna, the world had pulled at her body—it felt like she was being torn apart, like her limbs were not hers to move anymore. Her life slowly began to be pulled away from her, uncoiling the energy from her body and all the things that had made her feel so young. And along with that went with her beautifully, sharpen horn. All she had left was a pair of wings (thankfully, she had thought once her transition had occurred).
While the transition had been unexpected, and rather painful, she is left uncertain of what to think of it. Beqanna had indeed changed, but to what extent she has no idea. It is only here, in the meadow, this morning that she tries to figure it out. Waiting patiently for someone (anyone) to inform her of what has happened here. It was with an open mind, and deep wishing, that she hopes to find it has not changed much.
Then again, anything was possible in Beqanna.
And even waiting, patiently, no one does come to find her. She is not simply dishearten by the lack of others seeking her out. After all, not everyone was a morning bird like her. If it was possible she would stay up all night and day. Doing what exactly she had no idea, but she had always found the simplest of things to thrill her young and eager heart and mind.
The mare sets out from her spot held for many hours, wandering towards here and there across the meadow. A promising day indeed was on her side. The sight of the winged stallion draws her attention in the distance. He hoovers down clumsily, but catches himself in a manner that looks effortless to her. A smile crosses her soft lips at that. She shifts her line of direction towards him, closing the distance between them with a quick pace.
“Hello there,” she calls out to him as she draws closer to him. Her simple smile has not faded from her lips. In fact, the winged mare is smiling ear to ear. She is glad to finally find someone (maybe this someone would have the answers, she thought). “I’m Abelia,” she greets and at last comes to a stop in front of the silver smoky stallion.
