11-18-2018, 05:05 PM
It feels like eons have passed —
The heart inside that sable breast beats ever onward in outright refusal of death. No pale claw will silence that drum-like tune for some time yet. Not so there long as there exists a lover to be loved, a romance to be had, and sweaty speechless trysts to tangle with.
Isn’t that why she feels resurrected now? Not a true resurrection from a grave that is more flowerbed and dirt than a corpse’s house, but the kind that tickles the cobwebs in her ears and scratches at the worn velvet of her neck. Time wears on her though: from the smattering of gray on her muzzle to the heavy wind-knots that pull on her mane.
Despite this, she is the same beautiful creature she has always been. Mud is slathered up to her knees and burrs hold court in her tail. She looks like some forgotten queen of the wilderness as she parts the bracken with a push of her plump well-loved breast.
It is the kind of breast that lovers and babes alike have laid their heads against. The kind that still begs for the soft ticklish touch of lips there. Even the slope of her back with its new sag still invites heads to sit there in rest. She has lost count of the lovers that dozed and dreamed on her black back as their babes grew in her belly.
But she has never forgotten the mare - pale as moonlight, fierce as a lion and as gentle as a mouse. Their histories are tangled together in places throughout time. Here, a touch of their lips to the other’s mouth. There, a brush of shoulder against shoulder and somewhere, the cry of birds above their bent heads.
She sighs, as she thinks of it - of her - now, with fondest remembrance. Her step is soft in the grass as her nose seeks answers from the stuffy air. Sickness colors it and her nose wrinkles distastefully in response until she finds the one scent she knows she’ll always follow - her’s.
Boheme raises her head up sharp and lets go of such a whinny it might very well shake the foundations of the heavens above. There is such joy in the braying note as she rubs her face against that milky skin she knows and loves so well.
“Ryatah.” comes the lovelorn sigh.
@[Ryatah] ❤️