She knows of the sabino’s coming before the small mare ever breaks through the thick vegetation smelling of wolves and lavender. It’s the wolves that get her attention, neither a single individual - a bonded companion - nor the inseparable twist of predator and prey like Beryl’s own smell. The other mare smells like a pack. She has met shifters and mimics, and now she thinks, as the other suddenly draws near and speaks, that she has never met anyone that runs with wolves without being one themselves.
“Yes, beautiful.”
Where have the wolves gone? the young mare wonders, her tail flicking idly as she turns to her right to greet the stranger.
they seek
“Your friends are looking for you, I think.”
She speaks, just moments before the pair slink from beneath the fern leaves to flank either side of her companion, and she spares them a glance, her head lowering slightly to meet amber eyes closer to their level, then returning her dark gaze to the waterfall tumbling down the side of the volcano, rainbows glimmering in its fine spray. It reminds her of the lights that play across the sky of the Isle on clear nights, writhing green snakes that shift and twist so high in the sky that there is nothing but star and shadow around them. That is a strange an alien darkness which she has never been able to draw down, that has never heard her call, too distant, too cold. The untouchable darkness makes her shiver to think of and brings her back to the warm and bright present, colorful and wild and full of life.
The heat of late spring here to a body so used to the North makes the idea of cooling off in the water an appealing one, and she does lean closer to the water, but even the way the air seems to stick thickly to her skin does not drive her into it. The corners of her mouth twitch slightly – up? Down? She keeps her face neutral though she thinks most would have to swim to reach them and the idea drums up that familiar old sea sickness.
it is dry behind the falling water. we can show--
No!
The golden girl is not sure she can stand even a dry cavern behind that wall of water, rushing, roaring, the pounding in her ears like waves beating against themselves in open sea. The Shadows had saved her on that day, and perhaps they are right this time, too, but it was tricky thing to trust them too far. They were not always reliable reporters on the safety of things when they themselves knew nothing of what it means to die.
“Do you live here?”
“Yes, beautiful.”
Where have the wolves gone? the young mare wonders, her tail flicking idly as she turns to her right to greet the stranger.
they seek
“Your friends are looking for you, I think.”
She speaks, just moments before the pair slink from beneath the fern leaves to flank either side of her companion, and she spares them a glance, her head lowering slightly to meet amber eyes closer to their level, then returning her dark gaze to the waterfall tumbling down the side of the volcano, rainbows glimmering in its fine spray. It reminds her of the lights that play across the sky of the Isle on clear nights, writhing green snakes that shift and twist so high in the sky that there is nothing but star and shadow around them. That is a strange an alien darkness which she has never been able to draw down, that has never heard her call, too distant, too cold. The untouchable darkness makes her shiver to think of and brings her back to the warm and bright present, colorful and wild and full of life.
The heat of late spring here to a body so used to the North makes the idea of cooling off in the water an appealing one, and she does lean closer to the water, but even the way the air seems to stick thickly to her skin does not drive her into it. The corners of her mouth twitch slightly – up? Down? She keeps her face neutral though she thinks most would have to swim to reach them and the idea drums up that familiar old sea sickness.
it is dry behind the falling water. we can show--
No!
The golden girl is not sure she can stand even a dry cavern behind that wall of water, rushing, roaring, the pounding in her ears like waves beating against themselves in open sea. The Shadows had saved her on that day, and perhaps they are right this time, too, but it was tricky thing to trust them too far. They were not always reliable reporters on the safety of things when they themselves knew nothing of what it means to die.
“Do you live here?”
@[may]