02-18-2018, 05:07 PM
to make something beautiful should be enough;
For someone who came from an unearthly plain, she barely knows this land.
She knows the meadow, well enough; it’s there where she sleeps and wanders and passes time. She doesn’t go to the kingdoms – they are all strange to her, foreign. Mother spoke of kingdoms, but she used other names, the kingdoms that had been in place decades or centuries ago.
She likes the forest, too, likes the copse of trees, the shadows. It has a certain darkness to it, and though Salt herself is not particularly dark, she does enough her ghostly form, so it seems more fitting.
Today she is in her solid form, corporeal, dark and black as she moves through the trees, following trails made by many horses before her, a hundred unknown hoofprints. She slows, as another form comes into view, a pale mare with wings tight to her back, shadow stretching as the sun collapses into the horizon.
“Hello,” Salt says, then, “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
salt