and troy came tumbling down
Andromache was the type of person that had often been described as "old for her age". Compared to her fellow fillies, she had always been more serious, more pragmatic. This didn't mean that she was better than them, or devoid of fun, of course, but she derived it from other ventures. From the moment she had been born her mother had told her that she was meant for something great. As a 4 year old those words had rung in her ears behind every decision she had made- will this be great, will I be seen as beautiful.
Greatness, for the Greeks, spanned 30 years between 100 years of chaos. Likewise, greatness had come and gone for Andromache with the beauty and transience of a butterfly. A butterfly that lasts 3 Summer days and dies quickly, but carries with it all the innocence and glory of a pure life.
Andromache was no butterfly. If anything, she was a moth. This was even apparent in her seemingly unexciting appearance, the type of mare that could appear at any field at any time. Of course, it is not beauty alone that makes the world turn, but wit and intelligence as well, and of those she had been given plenty.
She had been in this particular meadow for a few days now, and she had not shared words with many. When she slept, fire still made her nostrils flare and her eyes sting. She was in no rush to be acquainted. No, in many ways Andromache was still tarnished by what she had left behind. But the grief sat steady within her barrel of a chest. One wouldn't see it from a distance, for she grazed at the outskirts of collectives just like anyone else; borrowed their protection.
One thing that did delight her, though, was the variation in the horses around her. Where she had come from, the most spectacular being had been Menelaus' mare; a palomino sabino. But here, horses seemed to burst with colour and intrigue. Entire days could be passed in Andromache just admiring the others who shared the grass with her. She loved to watch their dynamics too; to watch the fillies and their mothers, to watch colts and fillies playing in that time before they had yet learnt what it was to love or hate.
On this day, her gaze was focused on a small pink-coloured filly. She could hardly be an adult, with the way she traversed the terrain. Andromache watched her with a slight eagerness for whatever journey she would be lead to.
@Tomomi
Greatness, for the Greeks, spanned 30 years between 100 years of chaos. Likewise, greatness had come and gone for Andromache with the beauty and transience of a butterfly. A butterfly that lasts 3 Summer days and dies quickly, but carries with it all the innocence and glory of a pure life.
Andromache was no butterfly. If anything, she was a moth. This was even apparent in her seemingly unexciting appearance, the type of mare that could appear at any field at any time. Of course, it is not beauty alone that makes the world turn, but wit and intelligence as well, and of those she had been given plenty.
She had been in this particular meadow for a few days now, and she had not shared words with many. When she slept, fire still made her nostrils flare and her eyes sting. She was in no rush to be acquainted. No, in many ways Andromache was still tarnished by what she had left behind. But the grief sat steady within her barrel of a chest. One wouldn't see it from a distance, for she grazed at the outskirts of collectives just like anyone else; borrowed their protection.
One thing that did delight her, though, was the variation in the horses around her. Where she had come from, the most spectacular being had been Menelaus' mare; a palomino sabino. But here, horses seemed to burst with colour and intrigue. Entire days could be passed in Andromache just admiring the others who shared the grass with her. She loved to watch their dynamics too; to watch the fillies and their mothers, to watch colts and fillies playing in that time before they had yet learnt what it was to love or hate.
On this day, her gaze was focused on a small pink-coloured filly. She could hardly be an adult, with the way she traversed the terrain. Andromache watched her with a slight eagerness for whatever journey she would be lead to.
@Tomomi
andromache
Photo by Євгеній Симоненко from Pexels