06-28-2020, 06:29 AM
Elayne
The storm season of Ischia had surprised the little girl. It was something she of course had been warned about, both her parents had told her not to go out alone. But at her nearly-teenage state of mind, her endless curiosity had consumed her, and she had longed to submerge herself in the warm sea, below the breaking waves.
It had been a mistake, she knew now.
She’d taken the safe shape of a jellyfish like she usually did, and the whipping winds had created currents that confused the young child. She’d instinctively swam against them, but it had tired her too much - so much so that she forgot to choose a form that was easier, and then her fragile jelly shape had floated across the merciless sea for miles and miles.
When she finally reached another land, she let herself be thrown on the shore, the much gentler waves lapping at her purple tentacles until she was rested enough to get back into her normal shape.
Now the 6-month old filly lay in the sand much like the washed-ashore jellyfish had: legs still half in the water, her head resting on a beach she immediately identifies as different from home, because it was so much colder than the sand of her home.
She coughs once or twice and opens a golden eye to look around. Where is she? In the distance, trees loom, of a kind she’s never seen before. A soft whine escapes her as she lifts her royal-purple head to look around, her metallic golden sunset mane still sticking to her wet body.
Now what?
It had been a mistake, she knew now.
She’d taken the safe shape of a jellyfish like she usually did, and the whipping winds had created currents that confused the young child. She’d instinctively swam against them, but it had tired her too much - so much so that she forgot to choose a form that was easier, and then her fragile jelly shape had floated across the merciless sea for miles and miles.
When she finally reached another land, she let herself be thrown on the shore, the much gentler waves lapping at her purple tentacles until she was rested enough to get back into her normal shape.
Now the 6-month old filly lay in the sand much like the washed-ashore jellyfish had: legs still half in the water, her head resting on a beach she immediately identifies as different from home, because it was so much colder than the sand of her home.
She coughs once or twice and opens a golden eye to look around. Where is she? In the distance, trees loom, of a kind she’s never seen before. A soft whine escapes her as she lifts her royal-purple head to look around, her metallic golden sunset mane still sticking to her wet body.
Now what?