death seems better than the migraine in my head
This whole being blind thing really fucking blows.
It’s definitely not as easy as they all make it out to be. Blind horses always seem to have an inborn sense of grace, as if they always know exactly where they’re going to put their feet. Maybe it’s just a thing with those that just so happen to be born blind; their other senses get a weird, almost supernatural boost so that they are making up in the skills that they lack. Maybe it’s just different if blindness is forced upon you. It’s stupid. Either way, being blind is not nearly as easy as it seems. Being blind is hard work.
In case you haven’t caught on yet: Channary is blind. She was not born blind—no, she had perfect vision and two beautiful brown eyes when she was born. She can vaguely remember the color of the grass and how it contrasted with the color of the sky. Vaguely. She’s been blind now for more years than she had her vision, but then again, she’d been able to see for less than a year. Horses in this place are seriously fucked up. Pranks are one thing, but burning out a weanling’s eyes just because you’re bored?
Now do you understand where her anger is coming from?
She is sure that the day is beautiful—aren’t they all supposed to be beautiful in their own way? It’s not raining, at least; she can feel the scorching summer sun striking her back, though it has started cooling off with the upcoming onset of autumn. Perhaps it is dangerous for her to be alone in the Meadow so close to the breeding season, but the blind, awkward, angry girl is not without some defense. She never has been—and never will be—someone’s damsel in distress. She’s not distressed and she definitely hardly qualifies as a damsel.
channary