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    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    opals and onions; insignificance
    #1
    Summer gets under her skin like a thorn.
    It produces an itch, the likes of which she cannot seem to dislodge. This itch, she decided, was worse than the flies that buzzed about her skin. Those she could dislodge with a flick of her tail in a careless manner that meant she gave the flies no more thought than a simple brainless impulse to flick her tail at them. When had she become this apathetic?

    It had happened long before the first of three foals had slid from her loins in the agonized throes of birth. She had given little thought to each of them, one colt and two fillies. The first had been a strange sort, full of magic that she shied from and thus, left the colt with her own dam to raise up. Same with the first filly because she could float off the ground in a most unnerving manner. Then again, she should not have been so surprised. Her dam lived far longer than a mare had a right to live and there had been something about each of the stallions she had danced the long dance with.

    But sometime after the last suckled from her and she cast it off to feed on the grass, she had become this - apathetic and at times, she could think only of the first friend she’d made, that mare of nondescript brown that seemed as beautiful as mud on a riverbank. Insignificance. The name came to her just as the wind blew the forelock off her face and she turned into it, letting the wind blow against her skin and felt her nostrils widen to suck in the many scents. None of them seemed familiar. Not at first. Then one teased at her memory - at her mind, and that name came to her again: Insignificance.

    Despite her apathetic state, she had never forgotten that name or the brown mare that bore it. Or how fast they had become friends. The red dun overo meandered (because really, she did little else but amble and shuffle and all the things to describe a slow walk) towards the river, intent upon a drink but also intent upon sussing out the source of the scent that teased her old brain with its familiarity.

    @[Insignificance]
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    Messages In This Thread
    opals and onions; insignificance - by americus - 12-11-2017, 11:03 PM
    RE: opals and onions; insignificance - by americus - 12-15-2017, 02:31 PM



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