The palomino mist frantically moves around in the forest, trying to gain some sort of footing where she goes. There is none, for the larger part of her journey; trees, grass, rocks and dirt all surround her and yet they’re all so similar that she cannot find herself grounded enough by them. She moves around trees as if her particles don’t care that they’re getting separated, while in reality she feels bad about the phasing.
She feels like a ghost. A panicky ghost.
It isn’t then, until the presence of another comes to her – something she senses, not sure how (perhaps it’s his body temperature being different from the trees) – it isn’t until then, that she lands. The mist drops to the ground, as if that’s a perfectly normal thing to do, and takes the shape of the young mare’s form. Still a mist, the palomino mist-horse moves her blind head around, trying to make sense of where she is, where she stands, where the other horse had gone. There is no talking when you’re made of mist, and it scares her not to be able to see or hear him, either. He’s just there – quite enough to be noticed, but not enough to help her take her own shape in full.
Ears lay flat on her head, though in the mist, the only thing notably indicating her insecurity is the way she stands, leaning backwards a little as if preparing to run, and trying to see and hear what she cannot.
@[kildare]
She feels like a ghost. A panicky ghost.
It isn’t then, until the presence of another comes to her – something she senses, not sure how (perhaps it’s his body temperature being different from the trees) – it isn’t until then, that she lands. The mist drops to the ground, as if that’s a perfectly normal thing to do, and takes the shape of the young mare’s form. Still a mist, the palomino mist-horse moves her blind head around, trying to make sense of where she is, where she stands, where the other horse had gone. There is no talking when you’re made of mist, and it scares her not to be able to see or hear him, either. He’s just there – quite enough to be noticed, but not enough to help her take her own shape in full.
Ears lay flat on her head, though in the mist, the only thing notably indicating her insecurity is the way she stands, leaning backwards a little as if preparing to run, and trying to see and hear what she cannot.
@[kildare]