if you do not have shadows,
you are not in the light
The red trees crowd her in the same way her mother used to, with intention to protect and shadow. She has grown into her own beautiful shell, filling out the awkward length of limbs and the abnormal size of her head to all evenly come together in a well-sculpted female frame. She is tall but still there is a naivety that still reveals her youth, perhaps her lack of life experience or maybe her deep love for still frolicking aimlessly in the ocean. After all, she had only just turned two.
It seems customary to miss family on occasions you once shared, but the feeling that grief leaves in the pit of her stomach makes Ruthless feel uncomfortable altogether. As if any negative emotion just trickles a slow-dripping queasiness until she is able to move and distract herself. Oh, our poor golden child, already avoiding unhappy feelings and replacing them with a band-aid until she is forced to feel the wound once more.
So, she moves. She moves faster from the shaded safety of the redwoods and carries herself at a high lope for what feels like hours. She runs, she flies, she takes turns weaving in the air through the tops of trees, and dodging fallen logs and rodent-dug holes when giving her wings a break. Her stamina even surprises herself. It’s amazing what the body is able to do when it’s running from something.
It’s a shame she cannot run from the nightmares in her mind.
She finds herself in the field, confused partially but also somewhat relieved that the thick scent of redwood trees and ocean salt is long behind her. Any other day, she would find the redwoods soothing. But today, when Brine is a consistent grey cloud hanging over the golden filly’s pearly-cream forelock, it just didn’t feel right.
The sun begins to set, and part of her is worried. Worried because hopefully Aten and Kalil hadn’t noticed her absence, would they wonder? Would they notice? Worried because perhaps Brine hadn’t done well at Nerine at all, and maybe she is here. Would she smell her? Would she come to see her? It almost seems too much for our newly christened two year old to tell, so as a form of security she tightens charcoal wings into her yellow side and begins the descent down a rolling hill to the field floor.
Her pace tightens as unfamiliar masculine scents waft into her flared nostrils, stopping for a moment to inhale the deep scents and send out a firing snort into the silence. They were far off, probably too far to hear her. For a moment, relief washes over her.
And then, suddenly, realization.
She is in the field, where diplomats recruit for kingdom numbers.
Finally, the opportunity to try her hand at diplomacy!
The paranoia set in from her mother quickly vanishes as she hastily trots through the openness of the field until her eyes make out the appearance of shadows off in the distance. It’s hard for her eyes to adjust, but as she carries herself closer the silhouettes of black turn into something more colourful and unique. One stallion, matching in colour to herself aside from his stark lines of blue, with wings still settling from flight. Another--who appears far more mature and Ruthless hesitates to think elderly--blocking his path.
An aggressive approach. She likes it. Unfortunately, our golden child hasn’t really seen recruitment beyond what Aten demonstrated a year ago in this very field… So, in her defense, anything could look good.
Being more outgoing in temperament, our little Ruth approaches the stallions as if she isn’t coming upon what could two very, dangerous evils in the dark. Perhaps even the very evils that her mother whispered about. The very evils that her mother hid Ruth from for so long, until of course… Until that day. The day when Ruth decided her life could not be dictated by irrational fear of her shadowy mother.
“Hello,” she says as she approaches the stallions, coming towards the palomino’s shoulder with caution, the same caution Eurwen and Lilliana had offered her mother so many months ago. “Trouble comes in the form of light, too. You must be wary of those brave enough to do dangerous things with the exposure of sun on their back, you know.”
It is only mere coincidence that she is able to capture the words of the grey male as he speaks, though being young and having been surrounded by practically silence her first year she had excellent hearing.
Is it inappropriate to barge in on others conversations without permission?
A pause, and then, “I am Ruthless. I live in Taiga,” just in case.
Ruthless
