"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
01-18-2018, 11:27 PM (This post was last modified: 01-20-2018, 10:08 PM by The Creator.)
As no one went over my carefully chosen word limit, you all get to stay. Congrats, but it won't be so simple next time. The Author's editor is extremely picky. Only the best stories can be published-- this isn't chicken soup for the Fake pony writer's soul after all. Good luck!
The Author, being of the real world, and therefore not truly understanding the nature of Beqanna and the oddities its inhabitants are used to, saw the handful of horses scattered about his page and scoffed at the “crew of characters” he had been given. He looked at them, as they roamed about looking at him and his room as much as he was looking at them. Shaking his head he looked up, (because everyone knows all magical entities are always somewhere above our heads) shaking his head and furrowing his eyebrows. ”What am I supposed to do with HORSES?!?!? I write stories for PEOPLE!” He grumbled as he threw his hands out to his sides and let them land beside the leather book at his table. What to do with horses.
The man tapped his fingers on the table for a few moments thinking of normal horse type things, and what kind of story she could write with them. The author looked at the horses one by one and noticed not all were “normal” some had some unique coloring and other abnormal appearances. And, being a simple-minded normal human that he was-- his motley crew made him think of the most stereotypical fantasy horse fixture of all time. A Unicorn. ”Well… why not try it. he said apprehensively. With that, the Author picked up his pen and started writing his short story prompt for his characters to act out as the ‘Fairies’ instructed.
A seemingly ordinary horse is visited by a mystical presence that promises to make him/her a unicorn, BUT he/she must face the dangers of escaping his/her stable if he/she wants access to this new and mysterious world.
He stopped and thought of what the horses on his page would do. To his surprise, the page began to swirl and a stable appeared, and in the stable was one of the characters. Slack-jawed he watched as the story unfolded one at a time. As vivid as a movie, there in his notebook. This was writing gold! He knew he could use one of the versions and he feverishly began writing, narrating all he saw and heard. All the while wondering what else these characters could do.
The Creator
--The Author--
Round 2
In this round you are responding to the prompt The Author gave you (see above). If you have ANY fantasy aspects or appearance-- they are gone. You must be a NORMAL horse that you would find in the REAL world. For example: if your horse has leopard spots, wings, and a teal-green ombre coloring those are all gone. And in its place, you may choose any naturally occurring coloring. Bay, palomino, pinto, dun. Grullo, blanket appy..etc. I should be able to see your character’s appearance in RL if I walked into a barn. (Your character can react to this or not it’s up to you and how you use it to create a unique story)
Start your post as the prompt begins it will “fade in” to your stable situation, and end it entering the ‘new and mysterious world’ becoming a unicorn (only a unicorn! Color as you wish but you are a unicorn with a standard unicorn horn. No wings, or any other special non-unicorn add ons.)
-Your character must encounter 3 (THREE) obstacles on their journey. They can be ANYTHING that makes sense in your story-- getting out of the stall/stable/pasture, eluding capture by some groom or rando on the street, even trying to figure out where the new land is or how to get there. Whatever, 3 challenges/obstacles to Unicorn-hood. (like manhood, but with unicorns.) If you are unsure ask! Ya'll know I'm around.
POSTS ARE DUE BY: Tuesday, January 23, 2018, @ 10 pm EST (Mondays suck and this round falls on a weekend and I get that they are busy-- that and I have taken favor on you--so an extra day is given.
In this round, your posts are LIMITED to 2500 words Maximum.
UPDATE: FAQs
unicorn appearance: The unicorn appearance it up to you, but it must fit a traditional or modern definition of unicorn. AKA it may be any color or traditional white, it can ban have a traditional spiral gold unicorn horn or a colored unicorn horn made of a different substance. Your unicorn may have the traditional cloven hooves and goatee or a more modern look without those. up to you.
Defects: Defects given by fairies are gone (mute, blind, deaf, deformed limbs) but defect given by player (permanent limp from an injury, scars you chose to keep from battles, etc) are to remain
Magical entity from the prompt can be any magical entity. Be creative- fairy, beast, or ghost, etc.
Obstacles: Obstacles should be external. for example your character hemming and hawing about if they should go be a unicorn will not count.
The details (reminders, from round 1)
This is a writing/elimination quest. All posts will be judged on how well the prompts are met, your effort in drafting a creative story- full of vivid imagery and detail that helps the author envision your story, and how well you react to the challenges ahead.
Grammar and sentence structure will not be judged unless it makes the post difficult to read/understand.
No editing allowed once posted
You have no traits/abilities unless otherwise stated
CLARIFICATION UPDATE: Defects given by fairies are gone (mute, blind, deaf, deformed limbs) but defect given by player (permanent limp from an injury, scars you chose to keep from battles, etc) may remain
The Author has every right to change his characters to fit his needs, this includes changing form, species, even if you are writing alone or interacting with others.
DEFECTS: permanent defects will ONLY be given if you do not post by a deadline WITHOUT notice. You may drop out by PM or by posting so in the thread w/o fear of penalty. Short term defects may be given with elimination.
NO EXTENSIONS will be given.
If need be, the Author withholds the right to a roll of dice if a decision cannot be made on who will advance.
Any and all questions can be addressed to The Creator, in PM or in Connect. Good luck to you.
html code by Toli, design idea based on "Dovev" by Laura
There is my mind, there is my heart.
The page of the book isn’t blank other than her illustration. There are others there, all in different colors and sizes and all with their names written besides them. Instantly her hazel eyes search the page, perhaps hé had been transported to the page too, but before Kylin is able to even lay her eyes upon the first unfamiliar face, the page starts spiralling. Colors shift and turn and spiral in a never-ending circle. It’s a strange mix of colors and whites, and Kylin’s lavender is part of it.
When then color on the page starts to spread out again, some of the colors have disappeared, her familiar lavender is one of them. Kylin is still two-toned, a soft creamy gold painted her where once lavender used to be. It’s not the only change, she notices that her fins have disappeared just as quick as they had once grown.
The page around her is different too. It is no longer blank, save for the character introductions, but instead Kylin is portrayed up front in a two dimensional way with her head though the hatch of the door, which has her name Kylin written upon it with elegant swirls. From there the book’s magic zooms in onto the picture. Kylin finds herself standing in a square box, with walls reaching as high as her chest and little to no space for a run-up. There was no way she would be able to jump over.
Golden ears press back against her neck and with a jerky motion her head has risen. A loud snort causes her nostrils to tremble quite violently, but it’s nothing compared to the high pitched shrill whinny that echoes through the building. Kylin can no longer see the sky, smell Ischia’s ever blooming flowers or hear the gentle sound of waves crashing, and that quite terrifies her. Her hoof scrape across the floor, her hoof meeting concrete as she kicks the straw back. She even goes as far as spinning around in her stable. “Kylin.” The sound of her name has the now palomino woman spin around so she’s once again facing the front of the little box that held her captive.
Before her stands.. what exactly? It doesn’t look like much, standing on two legs instead of four and only reaching to her withers. Its skin is pale and hairless, except for long almost white hair on its head, making him look rather sickly. Fabric is wrapped around the body, but it seemed to do little to hide anything. It is hard to tell if it is male or female. And yet, his stance tells a whole different story. Comfortable and not in the least doubting itself. It makes her drop her head so her hazel eyes can study it up close. He, or she, allows her just that, just patiently smiling at her, until another snort signals the end of her visual exploration of this being. “Find me before the sun reaches her highest point, and you’ll be rewarded. An unicorn you will be, but no gift comes without a prize. Be ready pay yours if you decide to come.” The being is gone as suddenly as it had come, the place becoming instantly darker now its presence is gone. Startled Kylin jumps back. What had she gotten wound up in?
And what was this prize it says she must pay. It doesn’t take away the challenge is its words, nor the task that had been hidden in between the lines. Something so unfamiliar to her, and yet so alluring. Kylin had always just been, and with a simple challenge, this stranger hands it to her, if only she is brave enough to take it. She has to find the being, before the sun reaches her highest point in the sky. It would be so easy to just be indecisive and stay in the box, but no. Kylin has been indecisive too long already, and somewhere deep down the palomino tobiano lady knows that if she doesn’t take this chance, nothing would even change.
The first objective, or obstacle as another might call it, she faces is to get out. The square box has three high walls: both sides boards and the back reaching far above her head. The front is lower, but still reaching to her chest. With a mix of natural reservation and curiosity she steps forward and extends her neck to reach over the wooden board.
Any other might have kicked the door, or reared to bump front knees against the wood. Kylin doesn’t. Instead she only gently bumps her chest against the door, frowning as she realises that this really doesn’t do the trick. That was not how things were supposed to go. A bit annoyed her hoofs lams against the concrete and her ears flick back. Why didn’t the door open?
The glint of something shiny catches her eye. Instantly two creamy golden ears point forward, curiosity instantly rising. It’s made of metal, like Father, but it’s so cold and clearly not alive. It just is. Her lips find a jut piece of metal and allows her lips to play with it, moving the alloy up and down, but other than that, it doesn’t do anything. Or does it? When Kylin tries again, the sound of a hoof meeting wood startles her, making her jerk her head to the side as her lips still hold on to the metal. Not a too good combination, as her lip get in between two parts of the lock. She pulls back with a hiss, and a glare in the direction of an unknown neighbour, but she allows herself no time to mull over it. She now knows how to manoeuvre the lock.
This time she’s more careful. First she gently pulls the lever up to a ninety degree angle, then, without dropping it, slides it to the side. Her accomplishment isn’t met with a loud sound or cheering noises. Another bump of her white and golden chest against the door and it sways open.
Suddenly the whole world, this new strange world, has opened its door for her. It’s both thrilling and scary, what else would be out there? Hazel eyes quickly scan the hallway, but other than other horses locked in square boxes nobody is there. Her first steps are hesitant, and careful, but soon Kylin stands in the arch of the door leading outside.
The sunlight blinds her. The stable had been dark and shadowy, a clear contrast with the cloudless sky outside. For a few seconds her hooves against the stones are the only audible sounds. Kylin peers through half closed eyes, trying to make out her surroundings, only to be startled – once again – by an unexpected sound. Her first reaction is to freeze: head held high and ears pressed against her two toned neck, but it doesn’t take her long to flee once she spots two dark silhouettes racing in her direction.
The two shepherd dogs’ barking are louder than the rattling sound caused by her hooves on the cobblestones. They’re meant to keep unwanted visitors away, to keep the stock safe, but like any predator the dogs chase after prey. It doesn’t help to keep her escape silent and secret, alarming the people working in another. ”Chico, Ben, quiet!” sounds their loud command, silencing the dogs even before they step outside.
They step out of a barn ahead of her, efficiency trapping her between themselves and the dogs. “Hoo, hoo, take it easy girl” they try to calm and stop her, spreading their arms wide to block her path even further. It forces Kylin into a sliding stop, her hooves gliding over the stones. The dogs are right at her heels, still growling and barking every once in a while. This seems to anger and annoy the man, as they growl out another loud “Enough!” The sudden sound makes her jerk her head up, ears pressing back as one of her hind legs rises to aim a kick at one of her assaulters. The grooms beat her too it, one shooing away the dogs as the other attempts to reach out to her. The hand reaching out towards her keeps her occupied, and thus Kylin doesn’t pay attention to the now retreating dogs, lead away by one of the humans.
It leaves her and the second groom. “It’s okay, girl, calm now. How did you get out, hm?” He talks to her, as if that would calm her down and make her more cooperating. It does not, of course it does not. Kylin doesn’t belong in this world, she is not supposed to live locked up in a square box. And thus she does not still. Lips draw back as she bares her teeth at him, nipping at the hand outstretched in her direction. ”Ho girl.” At least it is successful, he pulls back his hand in reflex, and Kylin uses that brief moment of surprise and appropriate distance to her advantage.
Her ears are pressed back against her neck, teeth bared and her head drops towards the ground as if she’s charging the human. He’s right to yelp and jump out of her way. Two groom waving their arms had been enough to stop her, but one clutching his hand to his chest definitely isn’t. As she barrels past him she can feel his body against hers, as if he’s trying to grab her – not that it would’ve stopped her – but in the end it is her running free, and the human down on his ass.
Shouting, and more shouting, but it is all behind her. Her ears flick back and forth, partly listening to what might be coming from behind to stop her, but also looking ahead to her freedom. She hadn’t yet forgotten about her task, not completely at least. With the obstacles out of the way Kylin can actually take time to glance around.
Once she stands still her sides are heaving, sweat painting her flanks a shade darker. Her ears keep swirling around as her eyes take in the surroundings. Behind her are the barns, from which she has escaped, and to the right she can see herbs growing in a moderate sized kitchen garden. Behind it is the house. To her left there is this big rectangle shape pasture. It has a wooden fence and a thick layer of sand on the bottom. Nothing of that gives Kylin any idea of how to reach the mystical being that had secretly visited her in the stables.
Her hazel eyes end up looking ahead, eyeing the green field that lies ahead. It’s the first thing that makes her think of home, only just a little, but the grasses are as vibrant green as the Ischia’s jungle vegetation. And the strange iron and wooden structure reaching high into the sky. Kylin blinks, almost dumbfound for a moment, then her head tilts as she eyes the windmill. It reaches high in the sky. That must be it!
The fence separating the pasture from the terrain doesn’t offer a challenge. It is as high as the stable’s door, but this time Kylin is able to run up to it, and use her speed to her advantage. For a moment she flies through the sky, like Kharon used to do, and then she the grass us underneath her hooves.
Speeding to the windmill she finds the being exactly at its base. She’d done it, it was really here! Kylin is excited and even feels some pride at accomplishing the task it had set out for her, but now the cream and white mare is standing in front of it, she suddenly is quite scared of what might come next.
”Well done. You have successfully found me, and thus accomplished your task. Come, come, and let me reward you.” Her hazel eyes show her hesitance, but she steps closer nonetheless. There is no point in backing down now. Kylin dips her head, silently offering the velvet of her nose to him, and closes her eyes.
Her transformation is smooth and it happens without her being aware of it. One of the most noticeable changes is the spiralling ivory horn that has sprouted from the center of her forehead. It feels strange to move her head, as if there is extra weight that moves in an unfamiliar way with her movements. Her tail has lost most of its blonde hair and her tailbone has gotten longer, still sleek and elegant. It matches the white and palomino color of her coat, and it decorated with a plump of blonde hair at the very bottom. The being has made sure to finish off the unicorn look perfectly. There is a shine, a brilliant glow, that brightens up her appearance, as if she’s touched by something mystical.
Color: Palomino tobiano
Words: 2.146
Obstacle 1: Getting out of the stable / the iron lock
Obstacle 2: The two shepherd dogs
Obstacle 3: The two grooms
Unicorn with traditional ivory spiralling horn, unicorn tail and a halo like radiance/shine.
I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife
The darkness crowds him, swallowing like a mouth, and he succumbs. The smell of ink fades. He wishes, for one hopeless moment, that he is being returned to the meadow, found unworthy of whatever he was cast into. He breathes in, the smell of wood and leather, of hay --
He opens his eyes. He hadn’t realized they were closed.
What surrounds him is not the meadow, but four walls. He can see out, can see other horses, and humans moving about. He glances down, and realizes he’s black again, the purple gone, drained from him.
There’s a sense of déjà vu to this – he remembers a girl, brown haired. He was a toy, then, in a different world, a different reality. She had cradled him in her hands, under her touch he had raced and jumped, competed with the other horses there (toy horses with broken legs or ears, an island of misfit toys). There, he had been content. There, there had been a mantra: she loves us.
But this stable is different – he is real, here, beating heart and slick coat, and the other horses are real. He tries to speak to the horse beside him – a mare, dapple gray – but all that comes out is a shrill neigh, his words robbed from him. The mare pins her ears and lunges toward him, stopping just shy of the bars, letting out her own dissatisfied squeal. He wonders if she’s victim of this to. He has no way to ask.
He cries out again, desperate to speak, but only that same shrill whinny leaves his throat. There’s no space in this confinement to run, but he rears and paws his hooves against the stall door. The well-filled water buckets slosh onto his chest and legs. He continues, banging at the door of his prison, trying to cry out, when two humans stop in front of the stall.
“What’s up with him? He’s flipping out.” The girl who spoke cocked her head as she examined him. She was well put together, dressed in full-seat breeches and a polo shirt, long hair tied into a ponytail that streamed from under a pink Ariat baseball cap. A few strands of hay stuck to her breeches, evidence of the chores she’d been finishing before he started his ruckus.
“He’s a drama queen,” says the older of the two, a woman with a sun-worn face, gray hair kept short, “if he’ll let you, want to take him out to the round pen? Might help him get his bucks out before Sarah tries him out this afternoon.”
The girl sighs, resigned, and moves closer to his stall. He stops his fit momentarily to observe her motions, and then the door slides open, and she slides a halter over his head, the cool metal of a stud chain pressing into his nose.
“Be good, buddy,” she says, voice calm but firm, and he feels pressure as she moves. He follows tentatively, hooves thudding on the stable’s concrete flooring. He blinks as she walks him out into the light, the footing changing for concrete to gravel and then grass, and then she leads him into another enclosure, a round fenced area with a sandy footing. She unsnaps the lead, including his chain, then steps back into the center of the arena.
“Go on then!” she calls, and clucks her tongue to the roof of her mouth. He moves off, uncertain, trots the perimeter of the enclosure, looking for a way out. There’s nothing, the fence is too high for him to jump, and he realizes he’ll have to make a run for it when she leads him next. He glances at her, where she stands, body straight and tuned onto him. She seems nice, kind.
He knows the futility of it, but again, he tries to speak. To explain. Only a low whicker comes out. I’m sorry, he thinks.
He comes to a halt and stares at her. She clucks again, and he doesn’t respond. She waves her arms, changing her body into something strange, but he holds his ground.
“Get UP,” she calls, waving her arms, moving towards his rump. He moves to the gate, stands there. Sees the lead she’d draped over the gate, picks it up in his mouth. Drops it at her feet. Looks at her. At the gate.
Her mouth drops, and she reaches down to pick it up. She laughs, a bit nervous, and looks at him.
“Trying to tell me something, then?” she asks. He walks forward, lowers his head. She rubs his forehead before clipping on the lead.
This time, there’s no chain. It will make it easier.
He waits, as she unhooks the gate. Waits until they are both clear. He looks out. There’s sprawling pastures, lines of fencing, but in the distance there’s a copse of trees, a place – a promise – of escape. When he feels her distraction shift for a moment as a white truck turns into the driveway, he makes his move. He lunges forward, shoulder knocking into her back, pushing her down. She cries out, but he is running already, the lead line dangling, whipping at him. He digs in, runs faster, and for one terrible moment he steps on his own lead line, feels an awful pressure on his head as he’s pulled down by his own weight, and then the leather crownpiece of his halter gives, and the whole thing tumbles to his feet, and is left behind.
The trees loom larger in his sight, but before them is a white board fence, bright against the lush green of the pasture. It’s tall, but he has a running start now. He heads straight for it, and when he’s close, he lifts off, knees tucked to his chest.
He’s doesn’t clear it, not completely, his hind legs catch and for a moment he thinks he’ll fall, head over heels, but the board gives and though his legs are left scraped he is once again free.
He stops when he reaches the tree line, sides heaving from the exertion. Foamy spittle flicks from his lips and over his chest, and it’s only when he stops moving that he realizes the enormity of his exhaustion.
He’s lost, in these unfamiliar woods, and he picks a direction at random. He is aware of shouts from the direction of the barn, and hears the roar of a motor. He picks up a reluctant trot, then a canter, weaving through the trees. His heart pounds wildly, from the terror and exertion of it, and for a moment he wonders.
Would it really be so bad? To allow himself to be caught? That girl had been kind. What was there to escape to? His life in Beqanna wasn’t much.
But he remembers the smallness of the stall. The hardness of concrete. The place he’d left behind was a prison.
Distracted by these thoughts, he stumbles, falls to his knees. Barely gets back up. There’s a blackness to the edges of his vision, now. He slows to a walk – he has to – but still trudges forward.
There is a place, in the distance, where the world blurs. A portal. He moves quicker, desperate in his hope that this will lead him home, when he stops dead. In his path float balloons, dying ones, only a few feet off the ground.
He focuses especially on the red one. He once saw balloons like these, clasped in the hand of a clown, a shrieking, awful thing. (we all float here sleaze)
“No,” he says, and it’s only after he says it that he realizes he’s spoken. Barely a word, but there.
He’s close. He’s so close.
The way the breeze shifts the balloons gives them an organic quality, and one of them – the red one – drifts closer. He takes a step back.
He knows this is stupid, that they’re not the same balloons (and there’s no sign of that awful clown), but his primitive brain is terrified, frozen as he watches the balloons move.
He moves away, moves around them, but the way the trees press force him to be too close, and he thinks the sheer dumb terror will eat him alive, he bursts through, and then he runs, and something touches his ankle but he can’t run faster he fucking can’t, and the world blurs and somewhere there’s laughter and maybe it’s all in his head or maybe it’s real and maybe that clown came back to finish what he’d started and we all float here we float--
Again, the world flips.
“Congratulations,” says a voice. He looks, and there is a creature – a being – a god – a tiger, a pure and dazzling white, jeweled color on its neck. The jewels send prisms of light on the floor before them.
“Let me go,” he says, “please.”
“Oh, Sleaze,” says the tiger, “just a bit more. But first, let’s make you something worth writing about.”
Sleaze looks at the floor, where black pools at his feet, like ink. It takes him a moment to realize it’s his color, being leeched from him, and when the tiger is done he is left as white as she is, though his mane and tail are a dark purple. He’s only come to terms with this when there’s a terrible sensation in his forehead, like his own mind is clawing its way out of his head, and then something erupts from him.
A horn, sharp and dangerous, silver colored. A trickle of blood weeps down his back like tears from its eruption. His head feels heavy and strange with this new weight.
“There,” purrs the tiger god, “that’s better. Now you’re a thing fit for a story.”
sleaze
cancer x garbage
tl;dr
word count: 1,622
- obstacle 1: escaping the round pen/stable/handler
- obstacle 2: a fence
- obstance 3: a bunch of balloons, which are terrifying to horses, and also Sleaze dealt with an iteration of Pennywise in a quest a long time ago.
It happens rather quickly. He is in the blank, trying not to freak out as other horses begin to appear beside and around him, their names inked in bold black alongside them just like his. He is focused on them, looking for familiar faces, when the world starts to take color again, to become more than weightless and colorless again; instead he is enclosed in a small space, four walls the same brown as the inside of trees locking him in.
He doesn’t panic; his first thought is to spread his wings, mantle defensively, try to fly up; but when he tries to open his wings, there is nothing. That’s when he panics, throwing himself at the walls, screaming for help, blind to the existence of windows and openings in the front of his enclosure. He can smell other horses, hear them begin to react to his panic, but he can’t calm himself – he wants to go home.
“Hey!” the voice interrupts his mindless movements and he freezes, spinning to face the voice. There’s a creature there, crouched on the top of a tree-insides half-wall, balancing on four thin limbs, tail half again longer than his body hanging partially curled down the side. His startled eyes meet the very, very dark wide eyes of the creature as they peer out of a face ringed in a bright white ruff of fur. Gansey breaks the silence with a startled, “What are you?!”
It gives a head tilt, considering him, before responding, his voice a chirrup of sound. “I’m a lemur. But you’re not a horse.”
“I am!” the boy protests, because of course he is a horse whatever this miniature monkey thinks.
“You’re not,” the Lemur says decisively, but lifts one tiny hand to wave away his protests. “But I can give your not-horseness back. Some of it. Probably.”
Not-horseness? Perhaps the lemur means his wings, and he perks his ears in interest, stepping towards the half-wall and the lemur. Whatever a lemur is – though he supposes it’s hairy little monkeys like his new friend. “Yes, please!” he answers with a sweet smile, a child’s smile still on his face though he is a year old nearly.
The lemur shakes his head. “I can’t do it here in this stall. You’ll have to get out – meet me under the apple tree, outside all of the fences, and I can do it there.” And he’s gone in a puff of blue and purple smoke before the disgruntled boy can get a word in edgewise. He blinks in the lemur’s wake and turns a tight circle, taking a real look at the tree-inside walls. Three sides of his strange cave – stall, the lemur said – are solid, floor to ceiling. The ceiling is solid, too, so he supposes it would have been a terrible escape route even if he still had wings. Turning his head, he looks to see what he does have – and it seems other than the lack of feathery appendages, he is his regular self – grullo, no white except the star on his forehead (probably – he can’t see it anymore).
That leaves the half-wall in the front, where the lemur was. Gansey steps up to very base and slowly points his nose out, peering into the gathering gloom. It’s quiet, lots of openings just like his up and down the row, with rough, red, square stones laid upon the floor. Tentatively he pushes against the door, then harder when it doesn’t move; he kicks at it and snorts in frustration. It wiggles, but it doesn’t open; and then from his left: “That won’t work,” and from his right: “Leave the kid be, Harold.” Gansey looks harder into the gloom and can make out two other heads, floating above the tops of the half-walls. “Um…hello? Sirs? How do I get out of here?” Gansey says in his politest voice, looking towards the one called Harold. “You don’t,” says the rather grumpy voice from the right. “The people will let you out when they’re ready.” A pause and then from Harold: “It can be done. It’s that silver pointy thing almost out of reach. It opens.” “Gee Harold, go and give the kid false hope. That’s just great.” “Now Twiz, I know you can do it. You used to all the time. Show the kid how.” “No.” “C’mon he clearly has a life to life – all that ruckus a few minutes ago.””No!” “Live a little, Twiz! He’s a free spirit!” “No!, Harold.” Impatient, the boy kicks the door again. “Excuse me! Hey!” He interrupts their bickering and silence falls again. “I don’t belong here. Please, help me!” Another long beat of silence. “The latch, kid. Use the latch. That’s all I know.” Harold says gravely, and both heads disappear.
Great. Just great. So helpful. The boy reaches down and starts to touch the silver piece on the half-wall; it’s cold and he shivers, wrinkling his lip before he reaches down again, and is pleased when it wiggles. He wiggles it again and again, finding purchase to pick it up but lifting it isn’t working…and then he grabs it, angry, and kicks hard and the door and it finally, FINALLY swings open! The grullo yearling yelps in surprise and then gives a leap into the aisle with exhuberant joy. “Bye Harold! Bye…uh…Twiz!” And he takes off towards the end of the aisle where he can see the sky, hooves clattering on the strange square rocks.
The air is crisp and very welcome on his face and he extends into a gallop on hard-packed dirt, only to pull up short as something looms ahead of him, and he skids into it, wincing at what he knows will be bruises, and comes around to look at it again. Someone has taken trees and….stacked them together? Gansey pushes at these, noses at them, but they aren’t any more movable than the half-wall. But….it only comes up to his chest. He’s jumped higher, harder, playing with his siblings. Probably. And the moon out here illuminates the otherwise night-dark world, so he thinks he can see it. Taking a deep, steeling breath – the same kind he needs to jump off of cliffs in the real world – Gansey trots away from the barrier and turns slowly to face it and then he’s cantering, galloping, and he launches himself up and over; he misjudges a little and catches one hanging foreleg, snorting at the pain and favoring it for a few steps as he stumbles and then rights himself, cantering onward. When he encounters the second barrier, Gansey corrects his trajectory and grins to himself as he soars over with a clean jump; it’s almost as good as flying. The third and fourth are easy, perfect; he knows know the pace to keep and the launch-point he needs. The fifth fence behind him and he laughs out loud, thrilled to see the trees ahead.
The lemur said under the apple tree.
He’s in a gosh-darned forest.
The boy stops, heaves a sigh, closes his eyes; he takes a moment to stand quietly, letting his heart rate settle. It’s too dark under the cover of the canopy to find the apple tree by sight, but he knows from a sweet apple tree in the meadow at home the scent of the fruit – he will have to go by that. He sets off at a walk, absently sniff the air and every second or third tree. This one’s a willow – that one’s a maple. That one is another maple, and another. But there – on the air – the hint of sweet apple, and he changes course to follow it. He’s skipped a tree, ready to go to the next, when something drops out of the sky and thunks against his back, sending him shying sideways. He lowers his nose to inspect the object, snorting heavily, but jumps again just as he touches the apple with his nose when there is a wild cackle from overhead. Gansey steps close to the tree and looks up, barely making out the face of the lemur perched on a low branch.
“You made it. I didn’t think you would. Most just give up.” He swings over, hanging from one arm and one leg and reaching the other little hand out to Gansey. “Well, come on then. Let’s go get your not-horseness back.”
He’s ready to go home. Gansey reaches his soft nose up and touches the lemur’s hand, and then steps back, blinking because it’s daylight again, and all of the colors seem brighter. The greens are too bright, the apples too shiny; the lemur was brown and black before but now he’s red and…purple? The air smells like berries and sweet grass. “What…” Gansey tries to spread his wings but nothing happens. There are no wings. “Yes, there, that’s better.” The lemur is grinning, and Gansey is frowning. It’s not better – it’s still wrong – he goes to shake his head and the lemur leaps up and back, hissing. “Watch where you swing that thing! Honestly, you unicorns, never thinking of anyone else.”
“Unicorn!” it’s all he can do to exclaim that at first, voice cracking. Everything else he can see is still himself – still fine – but apparently he has a horn instead of wings. “I’m not supposed to be a unicorn, I’m supposed to be a pegasus,” He is irritated now, stomping one foot (ok, it’s childish, but he’s technically still a child). “Can’t you fix it? I don’t need a stupid horn, you creature, I need my wings back so I can go home!”
No sooner has the musty scent of parchment and ink left her nostrils until the world opens again – a dizzying chasm beneath her feet and then suddenly Saedís finds herself confined in a small, strange place. Imprisoned, behind bars of metal and walls of too thick wood. A morsel of panic tugs at her as she looks around, wildly. There are others here too, she notes – strange creatures – clad in rugs and with a strange, unfamiliar smell she cannot place. (It is show-sheen, but Saedís is no more familiar with that smell than the smell of hay and leather and human)
The other horses; dressage-barn-bred and with braided manes and tails, sporting descriptions such as “supple” or “Grand Prix-potential” are much to jaded to pay her much heed. Saedís – cresting her fourth year and still bearing the color of the sky in a storm – gray, with black shadows, desert-bred and all awkward angles looks nothing like the rest of them - who are tack-fitted and at ease behind stall doors. And woe to she who would have to braid Saedís mane – for it would be the bane of combs.
Saedís looks around in bewilderment, she has never seen anything quite like this. The stall to her left is home to a big cart-pulling horse, bright of hair and big of bone and across the narrow corridor stands a mare; mousy-brown and dull but with ribbons of red and blue and dandelion yellow on her door. Before her stall stand two strange, strange creatures on two brittle legs, talking amongst each other. The mousy-mare has won all those halt her ribbons for conformation and now suffers from Lamb-initis, Saedís learns and the mere thought of it terrifies her beyond belief. She wants to scream – beg for someone, anyone to rescue her before she too is turned into a lamb. But she is too terror-stricken to find her words (and part of her guesses that none will come to her aid.) so she just stands there in her prison-cell – a trembling shadow of white and nerves.
The two-legged creatures soon take their leave; bidding them goodnight and leaving only the faint glow of a night lantern – and it is not until then that the stallion-ghost choses to visit her.
He; shadow in the night and would-be savior; abandons description. There are no more words for the line of his serpent-crest, how his long, long mane nearly touches the ground and is reminiscent of the first snow on barren land. His slit-pupil is harsh and black and Saedís shivers a little as she meets those too-dark eyes – there is something eerily familiar with him – and why he smells of earth and pine sap and seasalt – mundane things that reminds her of home. He has the face poets would pen tragic and holds an air of nobility about him.
”Your deeds have never been accomplished and seldom remembered; but I have remembered you” he says; and his voice is of smoke and starlight. ”Meet me in the great forest, and I shall make sure you are rewarded for your efforts.”
It is not as if she has a plethora of other options to choose from, and thus Saedís nods her agreement – and perhaps the ghost-pale visitor knows this too – for he gives one last nod of acknowledgment before he makes his departure.
Her opportunity to escape nevertheless, does not present itself until the next morning. She has spent the night banging her hoof against the wood of her stall, testing its strength, trying to figure out a way to break it apart to no avail. Their People-person however, slouching in to the barn early morning, bereft of coffee and tired with worries of Lamb-initis and rehabilitation has not bothered to put on lead-ropes and halters, instead she merely opens the gate in the hopes that the horses will surely long for the sun and dew-fresh grass of their pasture. And she is not incorrect – with the exception of Saedís they all trot obediently down towards their usual field. Saedís – bristling with relief and excitement has positioned herself cleverly behind her colossal neighbor, almost disappearing by his side. His feet are the blue-grey of riverstones, peach-striped. They could fit two apples in a single print and Saedís carefully places her own dainty hooves in the very same prints. She travels with them all the way to the field, but where they all obediently enters the fenced area like a flock of mindless dolts, Saedís stops at the entrance – she figures that their caretaker, with her mere two legs will not be as fast as they, giving Saedís valuable time to bolt down back towards the barn and out on the road before anyone can even know she is gone. Oh, they will search for her no doubt – but she reckons that her carefully forged plan not to leave any prints in the mud will surely set them back enough so that she has a considerable head start. Or so she fiercely hopes. She waits until the caretaker turns out of sight – and then she is a shivering bolt of white lightning – dancing from hoof-print to hoof-print with a fluidity that is startling and beautiful. Her concentration is unbreakable; her focus absolute as she bursts from paddocks and stalls to unfamiliar hills and welcomed freedom. She does not stop until she is certain she is as far away from that horrible prison-place as she possibly can. Her ribcage heaving lightly though she is not very short of breath. Sweat has turned parts of her silver and in this moment she looks more ethereal than not, some ghost-mare with imperfect boundaries and fluctuating translucency. An omen of what is to come, perhaps.
Saedís looks around carefully, half expecting to find someone watching. However, there is no one, and she is left with her solitude and the steam rising from her body in curling ribbons. That night – she sleeps underneath the harsh embrace of an old tree – content in this new world that has bigger smells and brighter trees and the sun isn´t shut away all the time.
The next day, after having spent most of the morning tirelessly trudging ever onward - difficulty again presents itself to her – this time in the form of a river. Honey-yellow shrubs collect along the edge of it, crowding it like hedges. The water is slate-gray and placid, swells circling subtly beneath them. Saedís does not know how to swim – but she is not about to let that tiny detail get in the way of her adventure. She spreads them. She steps in. Rings encircle her storm-sky legs and behind her knees mud tickles. It is tepid there, in the shallows. A muskrat slides in through a hole in the river bank, not two or so paces downriver. A tench’s fin runs against her heels and she is coaxed in. There is, in the center of the river, a place where she can stand with a good portion of her neck above water and so she goes there, quickly and nimbly with the dexterous strokes of an urchin.
Here she drifts as the wind pushes the stone-gray water that is, otherwise, without current – at a loss of what to do next. There is still a considerable amount of space between herself and the riverbank on the other side, and a sudden dread drapes itself over her. Will this really be where her journey ends?
It is then that she hears the voice; it is a child´s voice, a clear, high tenor that calls out her own name.
“Saedis, over here. Look.”
Her head turns towards the sound of the voice – and there, a few steps downriver on the bank stands a pale ghost of a boy. He has a Spartan plume for a tail, white like cabbage butterflies and his shoulder-muscles quiver, out of proportion with how his hipbones jut from each side like airplane wings. He smiles at her and she smiles back.
“Do not tell me that the mare named water-goddess does not know how to swim?” He asks.
There are plums richer than his eye, amber-dark and brimming with a sudden, profound curiosity and Saedís can only shake her head in defeat.
“Well then I suppose it is time that you learn, it is not far left now. Come now – it is not hard, like running, but under water.”
Saedís do not question how he knows her name or the purpose of her journey for he holds that same air of nobility as the creature who had visited her in the barn. Instead she inhales a deep, shaking breath and throws herself headfirst into the deep part of the river. She is a tangled mess of impossibly long legs and sputtering breaths – far from goddess-like and graceful as she desperately struggles to keep her nose above water. The boy on the bank laughs, and there is a streak of darkness in that child´s voice now.
Her mind reels – this is not how she is meant to die, not when she has finally tasted the sweet honey of freedom and adventure. But what had he told her? It is like running, but under water. Saedís struggles for a last, deep breath, seeking to fill her lungs to the brim with air before she dives. Down, down, down, she pushes, until her feet make contact with the ground below and she starts walking. It is a painstakingly slow procedure, and her lungs burn and burn and burn with the lack of air. Fear grapples her as she continues, this is not how I die, she wants to scream. No dark, watery tomb for me. And she is right – for before long she can feel her ears emerge from under the water and she pushes up her nose again, frantically gasping for air, coughing up bouts of river-water until she finally collapses unto the bank. The boy is still there, and he looks down at her with a bemused look in those quizzical eyes.
“Not quite how I would have done it, but atleast you got through. Come on, we must hurry if we are to make it in time.”
Saedís stares at him, and her eyes are the buttons on a velveteen rabbit, dark and frightened and almost hidden by her forelock. She is not sure what to make of the situation – but figuring she has little left to lose, she decides to follow him. She collects her long legs from under her and staggers to her feet; cold and shivering and exhausted. He only gives her another smile as he turns. He has hair like water-lilies, Saedís notes. And his left side stretches with vast savannah gold.
He takes her to the edge of the great forest; and thunder cracks in the distance. Saedís watches; wide-eyed and at a loss for words. Her eyes are no longer so terrified, but neither do they reveal much. Saedís appears fearless now, bold – every bit the adventurer she has crafted herself into. ”Who are you?” her question is not rude or demanding. Her tone, rather, is soft, barely audible above the hiss of the wind and thunder. It reveals her sincere curiosity, piqued by the unusual essence of this boy. He doesn´t answer – but takes instead a small step towards a clearing in the middle of the forest made sublime by the last rays of rosy sunlight – and suddenly the boy begins to shift – turning pale and frazzled at the edges – flitting in and out of reality before Saedís wide, wide eyes. First – he turns into a mare; pale white and fleeting like a shadow and Saedís recognizes her as the illusion-mare that made her fall into the strange pages of that book.
Liar! She wants to scream it (and the memories bring fire-hot tears to her eyes), but it is not her own silk-soft voice that shrieks so foreign through her mind, but someone else’s. There is a madness there that settles momentarily, overwhelming the confusion from before and settling storm-dark in her eyes.
The mare has now turned into the ghost-pale stallion that visited her in the barn; and he laughs at her as she keeps staring.
”You wanted an adventure, did you not? I have remembered you, in the steps you have taken and in the shadows of your eyes. I have remembered you through darkness and through light, through weakness and through my own damnable strength. And now there is but one thing you must do for me before you can claim your reward.”
He pauses and her head descends but once in understanding; the meaning is not lost upon her; she will fulfill his task, she will end this adventure – if not only for the curiosity that courses white-hot and turbulent through her blood. She must know the ending to this story. Her story.
”I have a riddle for you.” he begins, and there is no small trace of amusement in his voice. ”Answer it correctly – and glory awaits you on the other side. Get it wrong however” he warns ”And you will be sent back to where you came from”
” I can only live where there is light, but I die if the light shines on me. What am I?”
Saedís is quiet. She has no answer to his question, and she can only stare dumbly at the ghost-stallion – with his gale-grace and star sheen as if trying to delve answers from the swirling shadows of his eyes.
Shadows of his eyes.
Of course, that´s it – she triumphantly realizes.
”You are a shadow! she whispers; struck with awe and sudden anxiety. But she needn´t worry – for he smiles again that strange, foreboding smile and nods in acknowledgment.
He then taps one hoof – and Saedís can feel something strange change within her. The tang of magic fills her nostrils and from her sleek-white forehead – a large, spiraled horn now grows, and her fetlocks have turned feathered and pale. He takes a step to the side then; seemingly content with his work – and urges her onward to explore this new, strange place, and her new strange body.
In the distance – thunder cracks again.
SAEDÌS
Word count: 2.415
1st obstacle: escaping the barn
2nd obstacle: crossing the river
3rd obstacle: answering the riddle
A seemingly ordinary horse… scrawls in illegible, chicken scratch across what normally would be the sky and I feel rather miffed at this turn of events.
Oh, being stolen away by a higher power wasn’t so terrible, I suppose. Realizing that I have the ability to discern language in written form didn't upset me either. But normalcy? It sets my teeth on edge.
What can I do but accept? The parchment beneath my hooves bursts open in a geyser of color, a hemorrhaging purge of ink that fills the four corners of this world with a fresh new scene. Walls form themselves around me, expanding to build a rather worn-down but lovely facility. The time of day is set in a hazy afternoon swelter; flies begin to riddle the peace with their noise and, soon thereafter, a pleasant hum builds from the appearance of stable hands, riders, and the usual barn riff-raff.
I’ve never seen anything like it. Worn cobblestone that clattered noisily with the back-and-forth of walking horses, heavy vine growth clinging to the walls and window frames. Even my confinement space (dark and dank as it was) smelled of worn wood and musty grain. A charming picture - almost enough to shake my reality.
“You’re new.” Someone says, leaning elbows on the edge of my lower door to peer into the shadows where I’m waiting, pushed against the back of my stall. I prick my ears with a bit of a start - jerk my head up and widen my eyes to peer at the figure sidelong. “And such a lovely color, too.” They speak again; now I can see the semblance of a pitiful smile offsetting their dark lips. I’m curious myself - what was so appealing about my puce green?
Hesitantly, I manage to take a step forward and that’s when I see the new tint of my legs. I’m no longer ‘Beqanna Normal’, I’m Cremello: Rosy pink skin, trembling tendrils of off-white mane, and (if I could see myself fully) I’m betting there are two blue eyes in the place of my gray ones. “You’re a mount fit for mythology, come close - “ They beckon with a lazy wave, inclining further through the opening as if they’d like to share a secret with me.
“The shape of your destiny is that of a Horn,” They whisper against the curve of my ear, once I deign to lower my head to their level, “break free of your chains and embrace the hills.”
The tickle of their words has me flicking my head softly but, no matter - the intruder has already leant back into the warm sunshine and is easily striding across the open courtyard, their silver hair picked up by the breeze and revealing two slender, pointed ears of their own. Impish, kind of Elfish. Odd, I think. What could they mean, the shape of my Destiny is that of a horn? And something about ‘embracing the hills’?
With an exasperated snort I flick my tail, no closer to the answer than I’d been before. The rasping click and glide of my door hinge interrupts me, though. Someone else is here. A leggy human female slips into my stall, one hand shy and reserved behind her back while the other presents me a peppermint. I know the smell, but the sight of that red-and-white swirled treat is too much to resist! Almost against my will, I bury the small of my nose into her palm and find - shockingly - that it was a trap. Like a whip, the half-grown girl yanks some contraption over my face and deftly clips a hinge beneath my chin. Just like that I’m a slave again.
“Flatwork today, girly.” She sings as she goes about her business, rudely jerking my hooves off the ground to scrape noisily against their bottoms. “Brian wasn’t too pleased that you dumped him last time.” She tells me, but I can’t find a way to tell her that I don’t know a Brian, or anything about dumping him. This little tall-tale was infuriatingly thorough.
Guiding me like some overgrown puppy, the two of us meander across the same courtyard my guest had skipped through earlier, walking beneath the arched shadow of a grand entryway and out into the open world.
And that’s when I see them.
I don’t even think twice about shying away, or ripping the cord straight from my handler’s grasp, because the hills are a welcome outline on the near horizon. They jut out from the earth like some sleeping beast, tail and head wound around a thick forest while the stony back protrudes into the sky. There’s no question about their purpose in this tale of mine; everywhere is flat as a pancake.
“LOOSE HORSE, SHE’S MAKING A BREAK!” The girl screams behind me, empty air that can’t stop the rolling thunder of my feet as I edge nearer to my destiny. Other swayback mounts pause mid-dinner, their blank faces wide with shock as I streak past them, lead line whipping my shoulders, my neck. I can’t be stopped - I won’t be stopped, not even by the picket fence looming steadily in my foresight.
Were a few boards and some nails all it took to really break us in spirit?
So long, suckers! I squeal with glee, the sound escaping in a high whinny as I tuck and leap.
My lead line snags - catches itself on that same fence I’d promised to vanquish - and with a painful twist it yanks my pearly head backwards and sends me sprawling onto the grass. I’m dazed for a moment, struggling blindly to rise on unsteady legs, and my neck is killing me but dutifully I continue with my plans for escape. The humans have mounted an assault already - they stream across the field I’ve just left and are, no doubt, planning to return me back to that horse cage.
I’m frantic; I pull back, dance around and try to rear or hop but it’s got me tight. The humans are closing in, maybe a hundred yards or so to go before my window of opportunity slams shut. They can tell I’m struggling, that I’m fighting and won’t give up, so their pace increases and my urgency rises. Come on, come ON! I scream in a throaty bellow, yanking and jerking and somehow, winding myself even tighter.
It’s hopeless, and I feel as such when the same, leggy girl who’d given me a peppermint trots up to me before the others. “Hey now, easy there you knucklehead.” She soothes, both hands up in a defensive gesture. Quivering, my nostrils flared, I steady and watch her approach. “That’s right, just gonna -” She grunts, and then leaps as if she’s going to snatch the lead.
Not today, though. The same moment she goes for it, so do I, my parted mouth coming down to snap together on her hand. With an agonising scream the girl falls back and I take this as my last shot - leaning backwards again to strain the rope before rushing ahead to slam my shoulder into the top board. Luck is with me; the board wrenches free and so do I. The chase is on again.
I dart across a worn dirt road, plunge myself into the thick of some farmer’s corn crop, and disappear between the rows, thinking myself as good as gone. I should feel bad about the little human, but I don’t have time to as the quick *pop* *pop* of distant gunfire scatters crows into the air. “... Last time those damn animals break into MY CROPS again!” I can hear someone hollering, and then the same *pop* *pop* sounds again.
A bullet whizzes past my fast and takes a few heads of corn with it. This guy wasn’t playing around. With the quick switch of my strides I opt to weave, bursting through one row and then diving back into another, all the while that harrowing sound of *pop* *pop* coming every few seconds, and closer each time. I think I’ve evaded him after a few moments of silence (how long does the corn stretch for god’s sake?!) and so I slip again through a row with hopes of finally escaping.
There, feet from where I stand, is the end of the cornfield.
The farmer is also waiting, standing proud in the bed of his metal horse and with a great, shiny stick pointed accurately at my head. *Pop* *pop* the gun fires and I shy away, eyes rolling in fear as I plunge and twist without thinking of direction. The brief sting on my cheek is telling me that I’ll have something to worry over later, but for right now I just want out of this freakish nightmare. In answer to my thoughts, the rows break in uniform again and I see an exit - clear of farmers - that leads to a riverbank and, hopefully, the end of this Human’s property.
I don’t have my wings anymore but that doesn’t mean I don’t fly. Even when I land with a grandiose splash and scurry up the opposite bank, muddy, sweaty, streaked with blood, I don’t stop flying. Past the growing trees and deeper into the heart of wood, I pump my legs and run until my lungs are near to giving out. Only then do I collapse, literally, at the base of the sleeping hills.
“You made it!” A cheerful voice calls out, the hollow sound of clapping hands echoing against the trunks. “Hard without any help, hmm?” The Elfin creature laughs, appearing suddenly in my vision as they lean over me. Their pale hand stretches down, icy fingers drifting across my cheek to pull back covered in blood. “But you had the strength. Follow me.” They demand, (pushy creature) turning their back to me once more.
I rise as quickly as can be managed by someone in my condition. The Elf is studious of me, a wily grin brightening their sharp cheeks as they turn to face the sloping hillside. Together we watch the earth transform - shudder and then take the shape of an oaken door, engraved with the tree of life and ringed in ancient script. “Destiny awaits.” The Elf reads without peering back, and I step forward without them needing to. It was inevitable all along, there was no need to be shy now. The door hums softly and fills me with warm light as I pass through; a new story unfolding, a new tale taking shape.
“Thoughts?” The Elf interrupts me, coming to stand at my shoulder with the presentation of a gilded looking glass. In my reflection I’m more Beqanna than I was before, a silver spiral grown firmly from my forehead to match the silver tendrils of my mane and tail.
I should be happy, but the deep gouge in my cheek is more unsettling than any other change I’ve received. Its presence meant something frightening; Unicorn or no, wherever this story took me, I would be able to feel and harbor pain.
When the painted stag raises his head once more, his murky eyes focus upon others like him. Many were just as dazed and confused as he.
"By gods..."
Vitalo moves to stand, but his world beats him to the task. What few shades of white around him that once existed began to mix and twirl elegantly around him. Lines blured, and his body was lifted. A once heavily built stag became weightless amongst the spinning earth. His senses are scrambled, every fiber of him fighting for his sight... his hearing... anything.
The man is transported to a new world, one foreign to his primitive mind. When he regains his focus he is awestruck.
Rising from the straw-laden earth is four walls, each held together with nails and concrete. Vitalo stares forward, vision blurred by bars jutting from chest height barriers.
He was trapped.
Cautiously the painted stallion steps forward, moving until his bodice meets the smooth surface of the wooden walls. There is just enough space between the steel bars for him to peek his head through. Beyond his Cyprus prison lay more identical cubicles. Each small room is lined up in a hallway, ten rooms on each of the two sides. Though he can just barely see it, he spots grand doors on each end of the corridor.
Vitalo steps backward, turning in a tight circle to get a quick look at his hellscape. It would have been quaint if he weren't so confused. The flooring was soft, bedded by golden straw, and mats beneath. On the far wall, a singular window (barred as well) was placed. Beyond its frame, the stallion spotted rolling hills dotted with trees and other equines. Though these equines looked different... mundane. No colors dotted the emerald hills, no wings stretched from gloriously scaled backs. No air of immortality wafted from these creatures.
"Strange isn't it young Vitalo?"
The piebald stallion jumps, ears pinning flat against his sweat-sheened neck. He turns quickly, a difficult feat due to his stature.
Strange, he sees nothing.
"You may have to come a little closer than that ole boy."
The voice comes again, musical in its tone. Despite the oddity of it all, Vitalo steps forward shoving his head through the great bars once more.
"Down here great fellow!"
The voice rises from the stone floor of the corridor, a small laugh following its wake. With some difficulty the stallion manages to tilt his head downward, his eyes met an interesting sight. The voice belonged to a strange creature. Floppy ears (not unlike a long-eared goat's) protruded from a strangely smooth face, a smiling mouth taking up most of it. The creature was dressed in dark overalls, cut off just above gnarled talons of feet. Glowing orange eyes peered expectantly at him from beneath the tail of a carp, used cleverly as a hat.
"What in great gads are you!"
Except Vitalo's words were lost in great whuffling whinnies and snorts. His own emerald eyes widen at the sound.
"Who I am should be of no concern to you. Just know that I have come to make you a deal."
Vitalo was shocked that the creature could even understand him with his foreign speech. Not wishing to hear it anymore he simply nodded, encouraging the little beast to continue.
"If you can escape this little stable and meet me at the ruins not far from here I will turn you into a unicorn."
Here the creature waved it hands, twirling its little fingers in an effort to emphasize the magic behind this.
"BUT this will come at a great difficulty to you Vitalo, this land is foreign to you. Don't let kind faces fool you. I will be around, though I will never look the same. Good luck old friend, I shall hope to see you at the ruins."
The little creature smiled and waved, taking a quick left before skipping down the hall. Vitalo smirked, there was no way it would be able to get past the great door! As if the creature had heard his thoughts it turned to him and winked before disappearing. In its place lay a snake, a frightening creature indeed. Without so much as a glance backward, it slid with ease beneath the barn doors, leaving Vitalo alone.
Right then...
Vitalo sucked in a breath, summoning courage for his journey. He glanced at the door to his cage, assessing the flimsy lock that held him captive. The stallion smirked, his powerful legs could free him from this. The stallion backed away from the bars, turning his rump towards his target. Just as he was redying his strike a jingling noise echoed through the quiet building. From somewhere in the hall a door slammed, and melodic whistling joined heavy footfall.
No sooner had Vitalo righted himself, another creature appeared to him. This one was almost as strange as the last. It stood upon two legs like his previous visitor, though it didn't look nearly as strange. Great tufts of curling black hair were sat upon its head, shining blue eyes peering out from beneath dark lashes that brushed the smooth planes of his visitors face when they blinked. Their body had no fur, only smooth ivory skin.
"You are quite the looker aren't you..."
It spoke, the voice, gruff in its undertones led Vitalo to assume it was a male. Judging from the shiny golden nameplate upon its breast its name was Michael.
'Let me out of here..'
He thought, stepping forward to inspect the strange being. Michael was clothed in blues and pale whites, shining leather hooves stretching to his knees. Strange...
"I say we should get acquainted,"
And just like that, the flimsy lock was slid from his door and the creature was inside the cage with him. Michael left the door open, planning to leave soon with Vitalo in tow.
Suddenly Vitalo wished that lock was a whole lot stronger. He snorted anxiously, stepping away from the advancing Michael. The creature raised its leather covered hands, fingers stretched in an attempt to soothe the large stallion. His eyes widened, feet rising from the ground in nervous half rears.
"Calm down, I'm not going to hurt you!"
It was easy to be fooled by such words, especially when you were hoping they were true. Vitalo stilled, staring at his companion. From the crook of Michael's arm, a strange contraption was produced. Without much of a fight from Vitalo, it was slipped upon the piebald stag's head and a lead (also looped around Michael's forearm) was clipped to one of the contraption's various loops and straps.
"Uncomfortable huh lad?"
Michael whispered, patting the soft scruff of the stallion's cheek. The boy pulled Vitalo from the stall, the stallion only briefly fighting the motion. He led him down the hall, stopping only to open one of the great doors at its end. Beyond the great Cyprus tomb lay more rolling hills and great walkways laden with stone, many other two-legged creatures roamed, holding is equine brethren captive.
Michael didn't dilly dally long, cutting a right to lead Vitalo to yet another structure, though this one did not have any doors. Many equines passed by with their creature counterparts.... creatures Vitalo decided to call warblers due to the annoyingly high pitched tone of speech they communicated with.
His own warbler led him into the structure, its walls decorated with finely shone sticks and ropes. More leather hooves (detached even) were lined up on the stone floor, their heels ending in furious looking spikes and patterns.
'Don't let a friendly face fool you'
Suddenly Vitalo wanted to leave, he glanced around, assessing his chances of escape. This building was much like the last, a great hallway lined with rooms and doors, though this hall ended not with doors but open air. If he were to pull hard enough Michael would drop the lead, but could he make it to the end of the hall without being caught by yet another warbler? The bloody creatures were all over the place!
Vitalo waited, waited until another warbler came by, this one much like Michael but with a higher pitch of voice and a longer mane. Besides Michael's companion was a sleek ebony mare, one with long locks and piercing orange eyes. The mare watched Vitalo with a smirk, those glowing orange eyes staring at him all the while.
'I will be around, though I will never look the same'
He reared, his stature high enough that with a great twist his lead was pulled free from an awestruck Michael. His hooves came crashing down upon the stone ground with a mighty rattle, one loud enough that Michael and his warbler friend stepped back in shock. Vitalo wasted no time, his mind was set on escaping, and that he did. He ran through the corridor, his lead slapping madly at his legs, burning the soft flesh there as it did.
He ran from the stable grounds, hitting the woods in minutes. Warblers chased him, some mounting his equine brethren in a chance to catch up. Though Vitalo was fast, he was not careful.
The stag was barely into the woods when his lead became horrifically tangled in the underbrush. Warblers were on his tail! He fought madly against the branches and thorns, but the lead would not give. His head turned madly, senses keenly aware of his advancing company. With a quiet 'this is gonna hurt' he bent down, managing to snag the contraption on a thick branch of thorns. He pulled with all of his might, groaning at the pain upon his ears as the straps pulled free. He stumbled backward, barely regaining his balance as the warblers broke through the treeline.
Vitalo bolted, nearly missing a great loop of rope that fell not far from his neck. He ran and ran and ran, jumping over fallen logs and dodging low branches. The warblers, however, didn't want to spend that much energy. He heard their screams of anger, and the whuffling breath of their steeds as they turned away and went home. His own whoops of laughter replacing their anguished cries.
It was then when the forest fell silent that he took in his surroundings. He was alone in a forest not unlike the Taiga of his homeland. Trees stretched mightily into the sky, he turned and turned, trying to decide where he should go.
'I shall hope to see you at the ruins.'
He groaned moving away from his thoughts momentarily to observe the only other being around him. Perched on a tree not far from him was a bird. That damned bird that had led him here. Though upon closer observation Vitalo began to laugh. Great glowing orange eyes peered from beneath the bird's feathers, the embers alight with amusement as they watched him.
"I have a riddle for you..."
The words floated through the trees in a million hushed whispers, the bird's eyes set intently on Vitalo though its mouth never moved.
"The answer is what you will use to find me..."
The whispers float in steady streams about his head.
"I am the black child of a white father, a wingless bird, flying even to the clouds of heaven. I give birth to tears of mourning in pupils that meet me, even though there is no cause for grief, and at once on my birth, I am dissolved into air. What am I?"
And the mockingbird is gone, disappearing in a small puff of pine needles that fall from its perch.
"The black child of... no grief.... dissolved?"
The ancient sulfur of Tephra's air filled his senses, his mind luring him to the ash-covered lands so far from where he was now. The glowing embers settling in the bird's eye flashing across the backs of his closed eyelids. Fire burned in his chest as he grasped for an answer, and then it was there...
Smoke.
Follow the smoke. Vitalo looked around quickly, craning his neck to look above the trees for a pillar of smoke.. but his guide came in another way.
It came as a smell. It filled his nostrils and pulled him west, the opposite way in which he came. He closed his eyes, sucking in a deep breath before stepping forward. He followed the scent for miles, the thick air around his head leading him to where his first companion should be.
Great rocks of ancient structures lay abandoned on the ground, the scent of smoke from long ago wafting through the air.
"I am here you testy creature..."
He called. Once more he was met with a screech of a whinny, but he knew the beast could understand him.
"Then come find me!"
The voice was the beast's though this time it echoed across the ruins, and was followed by a million little laughs.
Vitalo was sick and tired of the creatures games, he started forward intent on finding the damned thing. He would rip the earth to shreds if he had too.
"Cold.... colder! AH! Warm!.... nope cold again."
The voice chanted various things as Vitalo roamed the ruins. They were vast, and he had to search under many great stones. As he searched the night (he hadn't even noticed its presence!) bled into morning. He was tired, worn from his journey and the emotional turmoil. He turned his watering eyes to the rising sun, and gasped.
The silhouette of a small creature sat patiently awaiting upon a great stone met his gaze. He half expected it to bolt as he started forward, but it stayed put allowing him to get close enough to touch. The stone it sat upon made it just tall enough to stand face to face with the mighty stag.
"You have been a great source of amusement for me Vitalo... but I must ask you one thing.."
Vitalo shrunk, his shoulders slumping in defeat.
"Why fight so hard when I could have been lying?"
The creature whispered, crossing its small green fingers over its lap as it sat. Its legs dangled over the side of the stone, just barely touching Vitalo's muzzle as they swung lazily.
"Because I have faith in the smallest of things... Maybe you were lying. It couldn't be worse than this."
He was shocked to hear his own voice. The creature nodded and stood, dusting off the seat of its overalls as it did. Stepping forward it leaned over the rock, placing both hands gently on Vitalo's pole.
"Your quest is complete, and my words shall ring true. Close your eyes and open them, you may find something new."
Vitalo sighs and closes them, upon opening them once more the ruins are gone, and a heavyweight it laid on his poll. He is left with a new world and a new body.
"All this and I leave you with a horn, oh gads I'm funny."
Vitalo Smiles.
___________________________________________
word count: 2495 - obstacle 1: escaping the handler - obstacle 2: solving the riddle - obstance 3: finding the Puca and answering its question with honesty
appearance: grullo tobiano with a shinning white unicorn horn!
She keeps alert, her tail switching agitated against her hindquarters. Every sense is trained on the expected appearance of family. She waits, and waits, and waits some more. Time here is a funny thing, and she can’t tell if its been a few minutes or a few hours, but all the same she decides to take a look around her. In a way it’s a natural feeling, but she can sense the unnatural angles that she is seeing. Not far away she spots Gansey, she almost leaps with confidence in the fast that a rescue is eminent. Gansey! She squeals excitedly moving closer to him. Once again, the movement feels natural, but she can sense how off it truly is. The thick blocky name follows her taking the place of her shadow each step bringing her closer to the grullo boy. She shoves the nagging inkling that thing isn’t right to the back of her mind focusing all her energy on getting to Gansey so they can get out of here.
Sadly, things are never that simple when people outside of the Beqanna world get involved. First his name fades away, then his body. To be fair, all the horses around her seem to be fading away, leaving no trace that they ever existed. She is extremely confused at this and ends up stomping her little hoof in frustration. Where previously there was no noise, now she yips as the sound of hoof against straw shocks her. With what should have been a simple hop she clatters backwards butting into wood. Already shaken the roan girl lunges forward trying to get away from whatever it was at her back only to once again be blocked by wood paneling. Her head held high she squeals her displeasure pushing the length of her neck against the boards. Panicked Val’s breath comes in large gasps. Indignant at her situation, the filly flares her wings, shaking in her knees. Valensia a warm gentle breeze carries a genderless voice to tickle her ears.
Wh-who’s there?! in response white hot pain rips through her shoulders forcing unbidden tears into the corners of her eyes. She tries to clamp down her wings to protect them but only finds pain where their muscles used to be. She hears the muffled thump of feathers and the clatter of bones tumbling to the floor. Sick with dread her neck swerves so she can look at one wing then the other; seeing them there is all it takes for her heart to plummet. The sight of the severed limbs, lifeless as they whither until all they are, are piles of ash is almost too much for the innocent girl. They brought her freedom, and a way to fit in with the misfits of her family. Now. They are just gone; just as her life is gone.
Don’t worry Valensia, I’m here! The voice is neither male nor female and distinguishing an age from it is impossible. Primly a little blonde girl with pigtails slides open the stall door before smoothing out her white summer dress. Banded with satin, and flaring around her knees, she looks the picture of innocence with a pair of Mary janes, and lacy folded socks on her feet. Val takes stock of her for a moment; the girl’s head is down, and her hands are folded neatly in front of her. Just as Val opens her mouth to speak, the girl snaps her fingers, taking Valensia’s voice, leaving in its place only a crude whicker. As if things were not too weird already… Valensia can feel the droplets of sweat rolling down her neck from the stress. The girl doesn’t raise her head even a fraction, Shhh, its okay, I have a proposal for you. If you want out of here, if you would like to become something more than you are, Valensia, find me in the thicket of the forest. Its not going to be easy, you’ve never had to deal with a challenge in your life, but come find me and I’ll make you into something more than you are. The girl turns on her heels and walks out, never looking up at the filly.
At first Valensia sniffs her nose at the offer, fully believing that father will come for her. Waiting in the stall becomes very boring very quickly. The door still open, her honeyed eyes suspiciously glower at it. Half the day passes as she debates over accepting the offer or not, coming close to the door, and then backing away from it on several occasions. Tempted by the promise of magic, she finds herself in a standoff with her fears. To leave the stall means that she must rescue herself, but to stay means that maybe one of the family will find for her. Another person eventually comes, and her heart jumps hoping it’s a familiar face. She is sorely disappointed when a creature shaped similarly to the young girl that came earlier appears at the stall door. This one has hair on its face, and is taller than Valensia. When he steps into the stall she balks at the man’s touch, but his gentle murmurs keep her from lashing out at him. He slips something over her head and she finds herself confined to obeying his pressures. She yanks her head around trying to loosen his grasp. When this doesn’t work she resorts to raising her forelegs rocking backwards in a partial rear but quickly he has all four of her legs on the ground once more. Frustrated she refuses to move, until a bottle smelling of milk presents itself to her.
She doesn’t need to think about it, greedily suckling it, the man chuckles pulling it away so that she must follow him out of the stall; all the while murmuring softly to her. At first her fears keep her from listening to him, but the temptation of food proves stronger. It doesn’t take long for her to find herself in a corral with loose sand under her feet. He’s petting her, and talking about… well she can’t really focus on his words very well, so she contents herself with listening to his baritone voice. It reminds her of her father’s and his gentle way of talking to his children. Val sighs heavily lowering her head. She must take the girl up on her offer if she wants to get back to her blissful life.
As soon as the man leaves she begins pressing against the rails finding that there isn’t a single one of them that will give to her small frame. However, the large gap underneath the rails seems just right for a filly to fit through, struggling she bends and scrambles, scraping her belly as she forces her body under the rail to escape. With her back scraped and slightly bruised from the wood the filly nickers in triumph giving a little kick and jump in recognition of her freedom. Taking off at an easy trot Val refuses to think on the implications of her actions. She just hopes that she can make it to the girl. With this thought she bravely forges her way through the meadow.
Taking this route had seemed like the most straight forward solution in her need to get to the forest. What she didn’t expect was the rustle and low growl that can be heard from her left. She stops immediately looking for the wolf. Her ears flick in all directions listening intently for anymore warning. It must be father! He came after all! Her pulse speeds up, and the naïve filly belts out several whinnies in attempt to get his attention. Father’s playing with her in the grasses, stalking her in his wolf form, she’s so sure of it that when she spots the growling beast she begins to trot towards it. That is until it lunges towards her jaws snapping wet with drool. Terror floods her body; burning her muscles until they are forced into action. Turning around AND working up to a gallop take precious seconds that could mean the difference between life or death. With her back already sore from the fence, bolting takes one second to long for her to make a clean escape. Her back hooves dig into the ground prepping to take off when the wolf snags his teeth on her tail. Just before she squeals Val can hear the desperate click of teeth on teeth. Like any other horse would she speeds off in any direction other than the one she had been headed in. The black roan doesn’t take the risk of looking behind her to see if the wolf was following, she just continues her blind bolt until she is well past the meadow, and amongst the trees.
Her ribs expand and collapse with each inhale. Her sides and neck lathered with nervous sweat. No longer are her knees shaking, nor her shoulders burning. Now she is just exhausted and a little sore. Taking a breather couldn’t hurt any. Deciding on whether to do this or not she trudges on, picking her way through brush and trees. Until the sight of a gurgling stream provides her with reason to take a break. She tells herself she will continue the search as soon as… a yawn overtakes her, and her eyes droop in uninvited sleepiness. She loses a few hours between wafting thoughts of how she would get out of this mess. When she wakes its dusk and she is feeling quite rejuvenated. After taking a drink, she pauses to take in the sights around her. But as any story goes, Val finds that she is beyond lost in this strange world; where the wolf isn’t father, horses don’t speak, and sickly creatures rule.
The cool drink is refreshing, her nerves are steeled and she begins to think of a way to the girl. It takes a sharp mind to navigate the forest. She remembers that the girl had pointed in the direction of the sun. It was the way that she had been traveling when the wolf had attacked her, making her lose her way. She had picked up a few survival skills when exploring Beqanna, and randomly searching is never a good idea when lost. Streams always flow through thickets, and she can just see the last rays of sun peeking through the dense canopy. She puffs up at remembering that she would want to walk in the opposite direction of this light since it is no longer late morning and the sun is on the opposite end of the horizon. It takes her a while, in fact there are a few times that she needs to pause and re-orientate herself, it takes longer than she would like, and quickly darkness overcomes the forest. Val worries her lip in nervous habit. She can’t afford to lose track of the stream she’s been following. Then another idea pops into her little fuzzy head. Walking in the stream! It isn’t out of hearing distance yet, so she uses the gurgling water to find her way back to the banks before stepping on the slippery pebbles, and slowly making her way closer to the thicket.
It takes several hours of slipping and faltering numb hooves for Val to reach the thicket, but she does make it. She tries to announce her presence, but with her voice gone all that comes out is a small trumpet. As silent as a cat, the girl from before with the strange and eerie voice steps out of the shadows. This time though thick lashes blink upwards revealing the glowing silver of her iris’, a little spooked the filly clamps her tail taking a few steps back from the child. Now, now no need for all the dramatics rosebud lips part wider than should be natural, in what could only be taken as a malicious smile. That smile revealed shimmering wet teeth that form sharp daggers over a mouth to large for any sweet southern bell, while a forked tongue flicks out over her spread lips. A shudder runs through the filly’s body. What the hell had she gotten herself into?! Daddy wouldn’t be to happy about her language at this moment, but that is something that she can’t think about when starring at the pale girl bathed in the light of the moon.
The strange creature begins to speak once more. The words don’t seem to come from her, but from around her. Even in Beqanna they don’t have things this crazy. You’ve made it my dear, I’ve had my doubts about you. Almost gave up on you deciding to come at all. However, I promised you something, and I’ll give it, but because you dawdled it will not be as pleasant gift as it could have been. Val opens her mouth to speak but before she can bleat anything, the girl’s pupils elongate into slits, and her glowing iris’s spread until there are no whites to be seen. The girl reaches her arms out to the filly, another pair sprouting from her ribs and raising towards the sky. All Valensia can do is gasp as agonizing pain oozes it’s way through her body. Hair pushes out her follicles quickly sprouting a beard on her chin, feathered shag on her stifle’s, shoulders, and fetlocks. Without a break she can feel the piercing of her skin, as a golden spiral split’s her skull open weighing her head down with a new horn. Things don’t end there sadly, the pain seems to last for hours to her, worse than when she had lost her wings, worse than when the wolf turned out to NOT be her father. Her hooves split, cleaving to create two toes on each. Her tail melts, and bone extends wrapping itself in tendons and muscles until it is a unicorn’s tail with long shag growing from the underside and a puff of hair at the end. Finally, the pain slows to a heated throb until it completely dissipates leaving her without injury. Val can’t help but be terrified to look at herself.
The girl however has returned her attention to her own shoes, hands folded once more, and no sign of the terrorizing vision Valensia saw when formed into this hideous unicorn. Once more a shrill cry breaks through her vocals, still no language and no chance to ask the stranger what had been done to her. The girl takes a step back and is quickly swallowed in the shadows leaving no trace that she had ever been there except for the last glowing embers of her silver eyes. Staring at the place the girl had been a dark hole grows beckoning Val to step into it. Part of her is terrified that more pain will be awaiting her, but she wants to get out of this place badly enough to take a step through with closed eyes. She lets the darkness swallow her.
“And there was you - your fair self, always delicately dressed, with white firm fingers sure of touch in delicate true work. I loved you then.” - Charlotte Gilman
No. No. No no no. Please no. Her mind pleads, as her eyes come to close tightly. The canvas on which she had stood (with nothing but a name) begins to quiver underfoot. She can feel a whirlwind updraft, breezing through her iridescent gown of feathers, as if she is falling once again. A hushed whine escapes her throat when suddenly, the wind through her wings ceases. Exchanged for a brushing against her sides, like that of flesh on flesh. Wait…? My wings!? Peeking open her eyes, she sees her wings are gone. The scarred tissue of her past bare for all to see and know.
In terror, her eyelids rip open to reveal a dim reality. All around her, horses of every color and size struggle to co-exist. In their tight confinement, they bite and kick in fear and anger. Confused, just as she is. Her golden flecked eyes pass from one body to the next. Each more broken than the last.
Starved, beaten, bloody...defective. That is why she is here. She is defective.
As her crown swivels from right to left, slowly, she tries to make sense of where she is. In her examining she determines there is a border keeping them contained. It stretches from one end and corners into a next. Farther up, structures made of strange materials hover over head. Narrow tunnels branch this way and that, but they are blocked. For now.
A sharp series of whistles cause her ears to twist atop her crown. Some horses bunny hop, lunging forwards and practically over top the horses beside them. Violently her head turns as her eyes catch motion of a strange creature on top of a horse. Weird contraptions strapped to the length of their back, keeping the creature seated high above them.
Upon realization of her situation, her head begins to hang somberly. A gentle closing of her eyes in sadness, even as horses ram into her sides. They push her right, as they try to evade the reach of the riders whip. A violent crack cuts through the air, sending herself lurking forwards in surprise. Eyes wide and head held high, she sees the rider getting closer as more horses scatter. Another crack clears over top her head as shouts fill the air. Panicked whinnies erupt and something else slams. Her eyes catch briefly the sight of a tunnel opening, horses begin to funnel inside it. At the far end sits a shiny metallic container. Each horse darts in a different direction but all pointed towards the tunnel, to avoid the whip of the rider. She is conflicted in the fact that freedom does not look to be in the direction of which they are all headed.
Crack!
Dipping her head just in time, she eludes the reach of the biting whip. With the added space of horses branching off into the narrow corridor, she begins to skirt the edge of the group of horses. Getting a clearer view of what was keeping them here. A wooden fence. Immediately wondering what it would take to break free. Crack! Crack! Her wandering mind is cut short again, as the rider slashes at her hide. A biting sting across her backside causes her to reel back from the pain. Rising her front half from the ground, hooves slicing the air between them. In shock, the rider's horse jumps backwards and to the side. Sending the strange creature off balance and tumbling to the dirt.
As her hooves return to the ground, the riders horse bursts into a fierce fit of bucking. In an attempt to rid it of the many things attached to it's back, she assumes. With one thrust, it's hind hooves collide with the wooden barricade, causing another louder crack. Leaving the upper rail severed in half...
Run, Aurora. Get out of here and I will transform you into the majestic being you truly are. A unicorn Aurora, wouldn't you like that?!
She doesn't question the words seemingly coming from thin air. It sounded better than being here. More two-legged creatures come running at her. Shouts erupting as they near. A whinny escapes her as she leaps forward. She'd have to make it past the fallen rider, still clinging onto it's lancing whip. Dark, menacing eyes trained upon her, as it readies it's weapon again. Eyes narrowed on the weakened fencing, she picks up as much speed as she can, before launching herself airborne. Brushing passed the thin body of the two-legged beast and knocking it to the ground again.
Not today! Lengthening her neck and bringing her forelimbs tight under her girth, she narrowly clears the middle rail. With a heavy thud she lands, nearly tumbling over herself as she struggles to regain balance. Cream limbs stagger slightly to bring her to stand. With a quick glance she sees them closing in on her quickly. The rider from inside the pen begins to climb the fence after her, shouting angrily. “Get that nag you idiots!” They scatter to get their own horses. Her mind is racing as she gasps for breath. Looking to the freedom that lay before her but where does she go now?!
They appear. Just as they had that tragic day so many years ago. A trail of luminescent orbs weave through the forests to the east of the corral. Home! Is her only thought, and it wills her limbs to move with a speed she has never gone before. Her hooves dig into the damp earth, flinging mud up behind her. Glancing back only momentarily to see two riders pursuing her. Not today! Her focus moves to the trail of lights before her. Dipping and dodging through trees and brush alike. Branches scrape along her battered sides. Blood seeping from the gash the whip sliced along her hip. She was beaten and bloody, but she was not broken. Not today.
As she passed one orb, another surfaced to further the trail. The shouts from the riders began to fade as their weight and bulk slowed their horses to easier trails. A grin finds her maw as she pushes forwards with a newfound determination.
You're not there yet. Don't get cocky
The stern words from a familiar voice causes her to flinch but she doesn't dare slow. “W..what?! Who's there?” Her eyes look up to find a bright aura coming from above her. Followed by the appearance of a tiny, glowing blue sprite.
It's me, Aurora! You don't remember the first time I saved your butt?!
“You saved me?? I guess I didn't catch your name. I'm sorry.” Her eyes soften slightly but shift focus to the path of orbs.
They'll be time for that later. We have a surprise for you Aurora.
Her brow furrows in question, “I've had enough surprises for a lifetime I think!” A soft huff flutters from her nares.
Ok. Fine. You don't want a new body than fine. We will give it to someone else…
A new body?! She rethinks her previous statement, “Wait… I meant bad surprises. You, can get me a new body?!” Her muscles begin to tire as she slows to an easy canter. The fear of being captured fading, just as the riders had from view.
Well of course! I'm a magical fairy. Now that we are alone… What color do you wanna be?! Oooo I know…
Poof!
Out of nowhere, a shimmering black hole forms in front of her and transports her into another dimension. Without missing a beat, she is cantering along a mossy river. The sudden change of scenery brings her to a sudden halt. Tucking her muzzle to her chest, her forelimbs extend stiffly to slide along the river rock. Golden eyes catching a unnatural color underneath her nose.
When fully stopped, she straightens quickly. Neck craning from one side to the next so her eyes may examine her body. Her vision finds her changed. Once cream legs are now an iridescent teal. Fading into a pearly white body. She finds her tail doesn't flick with no direction. It is long and tubular(like that of a jungle cat). Tipped in her brilliant gowns, feathers of old: iridescent blues, greens and golds. It is almost too much to believe, that she turns to the river. Finding her reflection on its surface. Cream locks, now golden in color. A delicate, spiraled gold horn protruding from her forehead. “I'm….a….unicorn!!” She exclaims in almost a high pitched squeal.
Not all that glitters is gold
Obstacle 1: rider with whip
Obstacle 2: wooden fence
Obstacle 3: pursuing riders
Word count - 1,415
(centered message position cuz it was doing weird spacing. Hope that's ok)
Words - fairy "Words" - Aurora Words - Aurora thoughts "Words" - riders
Barn swallows swoop in and out of the rafters of an old wooden barn, bickering noisily over nesting territory as they settle in for the night. Perhaps the old, black stallion had caught his spots from them. Faulkor has never been much to look at - black as soot and just as filthy - his top line littered in bird-catcher spots. Rain begins to pitter-patter upon the rusty metal roof (the red paint had peeled away long ago). The setting sun illuminates the long alleyway, setting cobwebs aglow in shades of amber and red. Something stirs in a gloomy corner stall, aroused by the metallic scent of rain and the heaviness of nightfall. But there is something else. Sitting haphazardly upon a rafter is a pixie. His skin is blue-green, like an ugly bruise, and his hair is as black as pitch. The creature seems bored, chewing nonchalantly on the bones of an unfortunate swallow as one would a toothpick. Beady eyes gleam devilishly with an idea as his gaze travels down the rows of stalls (some empty, some occupied by sleepy horses). There is an occupant that no one will miss, he knows - an old, ugly stallion in a corner stall. He had lured others like him to their death before. The imp grins, revealing a row of pointed teeth, complete with a small stray feather. Suddenly realizing the presence of the remains of his meal, the imp removes the leftover fuzz with his blue-black tongue. Hopping up from his perch, the imp skips along the rafters until he reaches that gloomy corner stall. Shapeshifting into the very swallow he had devoured just moments before, the imp glides down to perch upon the prominent withers of the speckled stallion. Faulkor’s ears bury themselves in the inky blackness of his mane, and he reaches back with yellowed teeth to shoo the bird away. “Hey!” exclaims the bird in a tinny chirp, and Faulkor desists, an ear instantly unearthed from his poll in anticipation. “That’s no way to treat a stranger.” the swallow chides, and then in a poof of feathers the pixie takes his original form - humanlike and vile. The imp smiles, and Faulkor snorts in distaste, but nonetheless, the black stallion listens. “Do you know what happens when old horses leave the stables at night?” the pixie asks. Faulkor’s dark eyes gleam in the waning light of dusk, but he offers no answer. He had never been a horse of many words. “They are transformed.” continues the imp, his hands outstretched to emphasize his words. “Into what?” Faulkor replies, his voice not unlike the rasp of the wind through jagged treetops. To this the imp laughs, and the sound causes the stallion’s skin to prickle and crawl. “Into unicorns, of course.” Faulkor frowns, disappointed. “What use is a horn to me?” he asks the bruise colored pixie that sits upon his withers kicking his legs to-and-fro. “It’s not just a horn that makes a unicorn, you beast.” spits the creature, and with that the pixie leaps from the stallion’s back and zips out of the stall door. Faulkor hurries behind to see where the creature had gone, but by the time he reaches the stall door and peers into the long alleyway, there is no sign of him. With a snort, the old black stallion slinks back into his stall, seamingly resigned to live out his days surrounded by old wooden walls, musty shavings, and the patronizing looks of those who passed by his gloomy corner. A life wasted. As the last dregs of sunlight drown beneath the horizon, and the lights within the barn flicker off, Faulkor finds himself in sudden darkness and he smiles. In his younger years, the stallion had possessed all the athleticism of the grandest jumper. He looks to his stall door, now an old and decrepit beast, and he sighs. He could not hope to clear it. But, the words of the pixie echo through his mind, “It’s not just a horn that makes a unicorn…” Faulkor backs as far as he can into the back wall of his stall, the old wood grabbing at his hide as he pins his rump against it. Straightways he faces his obstacle - a stall door that reached the the point of his shoulder when he stands against it, with an opening of roughly the same size above it. With a snort, Faulkor lunges forward, dusty shavings puffing wildingly in his wake. Barely a stride and he gathers his rear beneath him to propel him over the seven foot high doorway. His knees glide effortlessly over the opening, tucked tightly to his chest. For a moment he thinks he has made it, but his hind legs catch the door at his stifle area, and the pain escapes him in a guttural groan. But the barn is even older than he is, and while the ancient wood holds tight, the screws that held the latch of the door in place break under the impact, and the door gives just enough to allow Faulkor to escape, but not without a toll of a few tail hairs on the back wall and some hide left on the lip of the stall door. For a moment the stallion looks down the shadowy alleyway, his silhouette barely discernible against the darkness. From the rafters above, an imp with hair as black as pitch smiles that fiendish smile. Faulkor steps out into the dreary rain. The scent of manure rises up to greet his nostrils as he passes a mountainous pile of horse waste. The red taillights of a car illuminate the rain droplets until they appear as sparks falling to a violent death upon the ground - a barn hand who was only just leaving. Faulkor stands frozen, hoping that the blackness of the night will keep him from being discovered. But a stray moonbeam peers from behind a cloud just at the moment the barn hand glances into her rearview mirror. “Seriously!?” she exclaims, throwing her car into park and reaching for a piece of twine that had managed to follow her from the barn to her car. She opens her door, and Faulkor realizes he has been made out. For a fleeting moment Faulkor stands as the girl approaches, grumbling under her breath, mud splashing beneath her boots. Then he lowers his head and whinnies softly, as if resigning himself to his fate once again. He trots forward to meet her, and the girl stops her advance. He has nearly reached her when she hold out a hand, but Faulkor knows better than to let her touch him with that twine (as flimsy as it is). There is only a breath between them when Faulkor bursts into a gallop, rushing past her with a huge spray of manure water astern him. Cursing, the barn hand rushed to her car to pursue the escaped horse, her face splattered in muck. Faulkor, unable to keep his pace, slows to a trot, adrenaline numbing the pain in his hind legs just enough for him to push onward. But a fence lay before him, and the barnhand’s car would soon be upon him. He weazes loudly into the night, his throat tightening evermore. The gravel road tore at his hooves, chipping away at the flares and threatening to bruise his soles with every step. Escape lay in the grass, just beyond the road, but he could not bear to jump another fence. Still, he continues forward, until his chest is nearly pressed into the barbed wire that separates him from the sure promise of freedom. But there is no time. The glow of headlights are upon him. Perhaps it is pure chance that Faulkor turns right towards the trees as opposed to left, which would have led him towards more pavement and more vehicles. But the black trees give the stallion hope, and quickly he advances down the fence line towards the forest where no car could hope to follow. Soon, the fence comes to an end, and he is swallowed whole by talls nettle weeds. Civilization disappears behind him. The shouts of the frustrated barn hand give way to the boom of thunder in the distance as the rain begins to subside. Faulkor slows to a weary trudge, stumbling here and there over the uneven, overgrown path. The moon comes to illuminate a small figure perched haphazardly upon a ribcage of a long dead horse. It is the pixie - his skin the color of a bruise, his hair as black as pitch, his beady eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Beyond the gruesome figure is a portal, blacker than the blackest ink. “Come, come.” says the imp to the old black stallion. “Be transformed.” and he motions towards the blackness. Faulkor hesitates, but the void is hungry, and the pull is strong. The old black stallion is swallowed whole by that awful hungry mouth. In darkness he falls, his skull splitting open to allow a sleek black horn to emerge, his hooves torn in two and formed into those of a goat, and his tail stretched into something more leonine with a tuft of hair on the end to match what grows from his chin. The blackness devours the white star-like spots that had previously marred his hide. When his transformation is complete, Faulkor finds himself upon the threshold of a new and mysterious world. He enters.
F A U L K O R
1570 words
mythical visitor: an ugly little pixie
obstacles: stall door, barn hand, fence
unicorn appearance: black everything, sleek horn, cloven hooves, leonine tail, and a beard
AuroraElis
