She is nearly fully submerged, almost swimming. Her life is much like this moment at all times: nearly brave, but yet still cowardly. Her muzzle lowers, playing with the surface of the water that cools her aching muscles. Brine has been an active bird, flying like a raven that has newly flown the nest. So long had she been stripped of the only thing that made her unique; the only thing that made her special.
Her feathers split at the cling of water, her wings feel heavy and stuck. Brine doesn’t move however, even though she should. Certainly she has retained enough moisture, but the water is too calming. It is rare she feels at peace, the ground rarely a place that she feels safe or at least prepared. In the air she could handle a dragon. On Earth, she would likely spook at the threaten of a squirrel.
In water? She feels cloaked in tranquility. Nothing is fearful, or threatening. She realizes the odd logic behind that, she knows. Yet, there is something about how the water seeps into her skin. How the soft current eases over every cut and sore. Something here makes everything else not matter.
Yet, there is that drop off. The metaphor of her very existence. A line of safety, and the complete unknown. Brine is not a woman of chance, she does not gamble. She observes, analyses, and computes. So perhaps forever, that line will exist. That drop off will coax her deeper but her unwillingness to take risk will prohibit her from taking a chance.
Fully submerged, almost swimming… Brave, but yet still cowardly.
A nicker breaks her calm, like a rock dropping into a still lake. Her shoulders slightly flinch, her eyes growing from nearly sleeping to fully alert. To say the least, our little bird has never been much of a communicator. While others find strength in relationships, she finds strength in independency. To lean on someone else gives risk they will pull away. She will be the tree in her own forest. She will learn to stand straight, without risking the fall.
Turning to glance back, across the wide river, she sees a stallion of smoky black splashes and pearly white accents. His coat is shimmery, much like a fish. Part of her is curious, is he decorated with scales, as she is with feathers?
Her tail goes to swish, but the depth of the water anchors her tail down, hardly having the strength to swish away minnows. “Hello,” her eyes follow the stranger, her tone quiet and reserved.
- Brine -
That's OK, I am sure there have been times I have been slow for you!