07-07-2015, 11:10 PM
what is dead may never die;
Aletheia, too, is new to this world. Although not in the usual sense. Usually, horses are new to this world by virtue of having been recently born. Aletheia, on the other hand, was deposited in the meadow with relatively little ceremony, awaking covered in snow and cold. She had scattered memories of a life before, dancing among the stars with others who might have been family, but they slip from her mind like water every day.
She does not know whether she misses them or whether she welcomes the change. She does not know whether she should cling to them like a lifeline, or sweep them out with the rest of the dust.
And so, she does nothing but dedicate herself to her new home. It is one of four things she knows: Librette is her mother, Carnage her father, the Valley her home, and Aletheia, her name. These are her lodestones, her touchstones, the things that she knows with absolute certainty. Everything else about the world is, in her opinion, worthy of some skepticism.
As part of her duty to the Valley, Aletheia has (entirely unknowingly) taken up her mother's role as borderguard. Aletheia had never known her mother, and so has no way of knowing their similarity, but it exists all the same. And so it is that she is the first one to find the stranger girl, so small, drinking from their stream.
For the moment, the girl doesn't seem to spot Aletheia. Theia quickly surmises that the visitor is fairly young; judging age at a glance does not come naturally to her (for example, she herself is far older than her age would indicate) but she's been working on it, and she is finding she excels at anything she works at. The girl is young, too young to be here alone. But she doesn't smell any other horses.
The girl finishes drinking and breaks off at a trot, conveniently heading in the direction of Aletheia. The girl steps forward from the trees, obviously visible but entirely silent. Aletheia is a pretty little thing, appearing about two or three years old. She's mostly grey – a bit early for that at her age, but her coat color is the least of her abnormalities. As she stands, the spring flowers beneath her hooves start to slowly shrink away from her, withering and cringing as though in some kind of horticultural pain. To any other horse this would no doubt be worrisome, but to Aletheia, this is simply another fact that she is learning. Wherever she goes, wherever she touches anything, it seems to start withering. At least it doesn't seem to stop her from getting the nutrients she needs from eating grass.
She looks the girl up and down with a neutral gaze, finally offering a nod – of welcome or of approval is impossible to tell. "Welcome to the Valley." she offers. Her voice is unemotional, neutral, but very pleasant – like the kind of voice that reads an audiobook. " Can I help you?" The tones are simply nothing – neither welcoming nor unwelcoming, neither sweet nor sour.
But the greeting could clearly use some polish. It's better than she'd had before – the girl is learning – but clearly, she gets her social graces from her (legendarily, epically graceless) mother.
She does not know whether she misses them or whether she welcomes the change. She does not know whether she should cling to them like a lifeline, or sweep them out with the rest of the dust.
And so, she does nothing but dedicate herself to her new home. It is one of four things she knows: Librette is her mother, Carnage her father, the Valley her home, and Aletheia, her name. These are her lodestones, her touchstones, the things that she knows with absolute certainty. Everything else about the world is, in her opinion, worthy of some skepticism.
As part of her duty to the Valley, Aletheia has (entirely unknowingly) taken up her mother's role as borderguard. Aletheia had never known her mother, and so has no way of knowing their similarity, but it exists all the same. And so it is that she is the first one to find the stranger girl, so small, drinking from their stream.
For the moment, the girl doesn't seem to spot Aletheia. Theia quickly surmises that the visitor is fairly young; judging age at a glance does not come naturally to her (for example, she herself is far older than her age would indicate) but she's been working on it, and she is finding she excels at anything she works at. The girl is young, too young to be here alone. But she doesn't smell any other horses.
The girl finishes drinking and breaks off at a trot, conveniently heading in the direction of Aletheia. The girl steps forward from the trees, obviously visible but entirely silent. Aletheia is a pretty little thing, appearing about two or three years old. She's mostly grey – a bit early for that at her age, but her coat color is the least of her abnormalities. As she stands, the spring flowers beneath her hooves start to slowly shrink away from her, withering and cringing as though in some kind of horticultural pain. To any other horse this would no doubt be worrisome, but to Aletheia, this is simply another fact that she is learning. Wherever she goes, wherever she touches anything, it seems to start withering. At least it doesn't seem to stop her from getting the nutrients she needs from eating grass.
She looks the girl up and down with a neutral gaze, finally offering a nod – of welcome or of approval is impossible to tell. "Welcome to the Valley." she offers. Her voice is unemotional, neutral, but very pleasant – like the kind of voice that reads an audiobook. " Can I help you?" The tones are simply nothing – neither welcoming nor unwelcoming, neither sweet nor sour.
But the greeting could clearly use some polish. It's better than she'd had before – the girl is learning – but clearly, she gets her social graces from her (legendarily, epically graceless) mother.
but rises again
Aletheia
harder and stronger