stranger in this land; colby pony

[sochi]

there are wolves in my head and their howling
there was a garden of evil in the palm of my hand

She is alone tonight, and she runs. 

The ground is soft beneath her paws, springy and giving as she lopes forward, the powerful muscles that rope across her back driving her forth. She can feel the storms brewing in the back of her mind, those things that she doesn’t dare face—those thoughts that simmer and bubble and threaten to spill over. She snarls as she runs, her lips pulling back as the growl runs up her deep throat, racing along her tongue.

Gods, she wants to tear something apart tonight. It is not a delicate or a sweet emotion, but it is an honest one. She feels rubbed raw, the edges of her skin crackling with a static energy as the evening folds around her, the darkness draping across her broad back. She would not be picky, she thinks, as her eyes begin to sweep around the area around her. She doesn’t need the largest game or the most dangerous hunt.

She just needs something to funnel this nervous energy into.

Something to blunt the edges of her razor edge tonight.

Something to take the brunt of her unnamed fury.

She has no real target, nothing to truly draw her ire, but she rages all the same. She has to wonder if it is better or worse that nothing has angered her and yet she angers. Does it just live within her now? Does she just constantly swallow the broken glass of her fury because she is the spark and the ember?

Sochi doesn’t have the answers.

She just has the ache in her muscles and the endless night as she runs forth.

She just has the silence and the sound of her breathing and the feel of her pulse.

She has herself and herself only.

It is probably best that she is alone.

now I'm broken and bleeding, I’ll never find my way

S

OCHI

stranger in this land

@[Colby] she is feeling really social i'm sorry