isn't she lovely?
Her golden coat swallowed the sunshine like liquid gold, her roaned flank tinted with the slightest of sweat as the sun continued to rise into mid-day. Another day, another afternoon of basking.
Her days had grown quite boring, but perhaps that is a good thing all things considered.
And while she had dwindled at the borders of a place she once held so tightly in her heart, she couldn’t find herself the gumption to left her leg and cross the border. Instead, our calculated mare had stood unwavering at the line.
She had needed a breeze, a call, a sign. Yet, nothing followed but the stillness of trees and the increasing pound that bellowed in her chest.
There had been a time where she had sworn avoidance to the field, unless she had been brought to save another soul. That is what the field is for, isn’t it? Horses with no purpose, no job, no grip for life find a reason to live again. Why hadn’t it worked for Brine?
More importantly—as a previous success story of the nomad land—why didn’t it last for her?
But it’s all she knew and it’s all she had left. She couldn’t find her place alone and she had no one left to turn to. She couldn’t turn to Lil, not this time and not yet. Ruth refused to let Lilliana see her as a soul in need of more saving. Our little doe needed to transform into the bear she held so protectively in the centre of her being, she needed to find the spark again.
But the field had been quiet and she had found herself wandering away from company whenever the opportunity had arose, the choice of solitude so much more comforting than breaking the pattern that felt embedded in her mind.
How do you just decide to be OK again?
A bird flies overhead and Ruthless flutters her eyes in response to the sporadic shadow, lifting her head to see the soft breeze caressing the tips of the outgrown blades of grass that surrounded her. One leg at a time, the mare rocks herself to stand and gives a violent shake to rid of loose turf that tried to cling to her skin.
Perhaps today will be different.
Her days had grown quite boring, but perhaps that is a good thing all things considered.
And while she had dwindled at the borders of a place she once held so tightly in her heart, she couldn’t find herself the gumption to left her leg and cross the border. Instead, our calculated mare had stood unwavering at the line.
She had needed a breeze, a call, a sign. Yet, nothing followed but the stillness of trees and the increasing pound that bellowed in her chest.
There had been a time where she had sworn avoidance to the field, unless she had been brought to save another soul. That is what the field is for, isn’t it? Horses with no purpose, no job, no grip for life find a reason to live again. Why hadn’t it worked for Brine?
More importantly—as a previous success story of the nomad land—why didn’t it last for her?
But it’s all she knew and it’s all she had left. She couldn’t find her place alone and she had no one left to turn to. She couldn’t turn to Lil, not this time and not yet. Ruth refused to let Lilliana see her as a soul in need of more saving. Our little doe needed to transform into the bear she held so protectively in the centre of her being, she needed to find the spark again.
But the field had been quiet and she had found herself wandering away from company whenever the opportunity had arose, the choice of solitude so much more comforting than breaking the pattern that felt embedded in her mind.
How do you just decide to be OK again?
A bird flies overhead and Ruthless flutters her eyes in response to the sporadic shadow, lifting her head to see the soft breeze caressing the tips of the outgrown blades of grass that surrounded her. One leg at a time, the mare rocks herself to stand and gives a violent shake to rid of loose turf that tried to cling to her skin.
Perhaps today will be different.
Ruthless
father x mother or rank