Out with the golden we sew, and the lower past that crawls.
Now, to the doorway you run, to the girl that's not lost.
Now, to the doorway you run, to the girl that's not lost.
Her soft, billowing breath is the source from which I draw my strength and confidence. I can hear her hooves gently following the rhythm of my own, but I know that she is lost to her thoughts; but had I been truly alone on this journey, I know I would never have found my way to the field. She is my charge, my companion, my sister. With her to look out for, and her looking out for me, too, I am able to get us there safely.
I do not interrupt her thoughts as we travel, respecting her private thoughts, racing as they must be - like my own. My head is filled to the brim with questions and queries and why do you know my father's name? For a moment, I contemplate stopping and confronting the tawny woman, I contemplate getting my answers now. But the inelegance and disgraceful nature of such an action is unbecoming of me, and of my friendship with Sig. Already my respect and admiration for her outshines my own self ambition. Whenever her muzzle strays from my back, I adjust my position to find her touch again.
The land clears and a plateaued field comes into view (the field). My nutmeg eyes and small ears are whisking to and from stimuli, eager and frightened all at once. The sensations must have overwhelmed me, for in my curiosity I stop without warning. I jolt at Sig's body bumping into mine, but I also hear her cry and she is immediately forgiven. I reach out my dark muzzle reassuringly, nudging her nose and lifting her head higher with a soft nicker. I'm here, my body language says, and to the others who look at us curiously, it's either both of us, or neither.
She asks me then if this is it, and I smile. She withdraws from my touch but I don't mind; I am happy to do only as she needs. I look away to scan the crowd as her own eyes fall on the curves and edges of my features, reminiscent about something that I have yet to understand. But all shall be answered in time, and for now, we two motley women require a home. Our skin-and-bone ribs quiver in anticipation, our thin but promising legs shuffling gently beneath us.
"This is it, Sig," I say in return, turning my eyes to her wounded but inexplicably lovely face. Like my father before me, I see now the beauty in the simpleness of her features, and in the russet fibers of her coat. I liken myself to her as if I am predisposed to do so - and in a way, I am.
"Home awaits us."
A sad sight we are, and to some, write offs - but others? They will see our potential.
I do not interrupt her thoughts as we travel, respecting her private thoughts, racing as they must be - like my own. My head is filled to the brim with questions and queries and why do you know my father's name? For a moment, I contemplate stopping and confronting the tawny woman, I contemplate getting my answers now. But the inelegance and disgraceful nature of such an action is unbecoming of me, and of my friendship with Sig. Already my respect and admiration for her outshines my own self ambition. Whenever her muzzle strays from my back, I adjust my position to find her touch again.
The land clears and a plateaued field comes into view (the field). My nutmeg eyes and small ears are whisking to and from stimuli, eager and frightened all at once. The sensations must have overwhelmed me, for in my curiosity I stop without warning. I jolt at Sig's body bumping into mine, but I also hear her cry and she is immediately forgiven. I reach out my dark muzzle reassuringly, nudging her nose and lifting her head higher with a soft nicker. I'm here, my body language says, and to the others who look at us curiously, it's either both of us, or neither.
She asks me then if this is it, and I smile. She withdraws from my touch but I don't mind; I am happy to do only as she needs. I look away to scan the crowd as her own eyes fall on the curves and edges of my features, reminiscent about something that I have yet to understand. But all shall be answered in time, and for now, we two motley women require a home. Our skin-and-bone ribs quiver in anticipation, our thin but promising legs shuffling gently beneath us.
"This is it, Sig," I say in return, turning my eyes to her wounded but inexplicably lovely face. Like my father before me, I see now the beauty in the simpleness of her features, and in the russet fibers of her coat. I liken myself to her as if I am predisposed to do so - and in a way, I am.
"Home awaits us."
A sad sight we are, and to some, write offs - but others? They will see our potential.
Kagerus
sweet nothing
HI RECRUITERS PLEASE GO NUTS THANKS
![[Image: kag]](https://78.media.tumblr.com/2e8039018ce4dff6112c167ec23e886a/tumblr_p72zjit7wC1s5a0qvo1_100.png)
dreamweaver