Beqanna was a bedtime story. During her early days, when she had been nothing but legs and soft angles of a new foal, Aletta had told her daughter so many stories. There had been the immediate ones from her family's personal history: Starlet and her quiet grace, the other Lilliana she had been named for and the stories continued to go back and back through the generations and the different places her ancestors had called home. She can't remember the first time that name Beqanna was uttered or what story it was that was told. But at some point underneath the summer sky with the crickets singing and the lush grasses swaying under starlight, Aletta whispered to her daughter about the stories that the faraway land held. The Amazons and the Jungle were a staple of her elder sister, Brielle's green eyes hungering for more at each mention of Aslyum and Antarda and Prague.
(Lilli can remember being small, asking her mother whatever came of Texas and Believer, the former King and Queen of the Dazzling Waterfalls. If Texas had been immortal, what happened to Believer all those years ago? And more importantly, what did he do now if he still existed? She can remember being so concerned for him, feeling the pang of sympathy as she grew to understand that he would have to continue to face life alone.)
But then Aletta would shift her stories to the Dale, a place that their family had called home so many generations ago. She would talk about the King, Coke and his understanding and his kindness. The silver mare would try to explain as much as she could, apologizing to her children for the gaps in the stories, the information that had been lost to time. Perhaps that was why her mother was so adamant to share what she knew, to pass along to her own children, so what they knew wouldn't become lost. And now Lilli carries those stories in her own heart, prepared to keep them and tell them to another generation if she ever has a child of her own.
The upheaval of what Beqanna once was doesn't really trouble her. The layout of this land is still strange and all she knows is that she almost always feel lost, a stranger in a strange land. There are days that pass and Lilli, so unfamiliar with loneliness, aches to hear a kind word and wishes longingly for some kind of companionship. The days come and go with an occasional conversation, another passerby that might wish the chestnut mare a 'good morning' or just nod in her direction, barely acknowledging her existence. She can feel her silver-blue eyes light and them dim with the realization that she will be left alone again, feeling the outsider in a place where it seems (to her) that everybody has somewhere to belong, someplace to be. The optimist in her tries to find comfort that with each passing moment, she is one moment closer to finding a place to belong, that this situation is only temporary.
The upheaval of what Beqanna once was doesn't really trouble her. The layout of this land is still strange and all she knows is that she almost always feel lost, a stranger in a strange land. There are days that pass and Lilli, so unfamiliar with loneliness, aches to hear a kind word and wishes longingly for some kind of companionship. The days come and go with an occasional conversation, another passerby that might wish the chestnut mare a 'good morning' or just nod in her direction, barely acknowledging her existence. She can feel her silver-blue eyes light and them dim with the realization that she will be left alone again, feeling the outsider in a place where it seems (to her) that everybody has somewhere to belong, someplace to be. The optimist in her tries to find comfort that with each passing moment, she is one moment closer to finding a place to belong, that this situation is only temporary.
Someday she too will have a place to belong and somewhere to go.
Lilliana has always found beside the river and today is no different. The gods have used a paintbrush to decorate the slow-moving current with the reeds that have stretched their newly grown stems, the deep blue of the lupines that are so reminiscent of her birthplace and the other flowers that speckle the riverside. It so achingly like home that the smile that comes is gentle, wistful with all the remembering. There have been so many sweet days spent by a river like this one, so many spring days that carried the sweet scents of renewal and new life. The water moves smoothly here and Lilli enters, not hesitating against the slight chill still left from winter that moves past her. She moves from one side of the inlet towards the other and Lilli allows the gentle current to push her downstream, taking one sloshing stride after another. She follows it as she wades ankle-deep, goes round the few bends until finally it takes to her another little basin. And in this one stands a brown mare, her petite form oblivious to Lilli as she admires the enticing flowers around her. The crimson girl smiles and moves away from the river's current, coming to towards Pond and her blossoming companions. "They are lovely," the chestnut compliments, her voice warm with appreciation. "I always think the first flowers of spring smell the sweetest."
@[Pond] your post was wonderful. 
but it's all in the past, love
it's all gone with the wind