11-01-2019, 11:12 AM
Today, they are moving out of the Meadow, the black and white mare watches while her golden child runs wild. Her blood is high in the early morning light as she leaps through the thick tussocks of grass, tripping over hidden obstacles and her own legs. They are still so new, so thin, but they move in a blur until the filly lets out a mighty kick at some invisible monster with a high-pitched laugh, and Mehendi smiles gently. The little yellow thing had been a surprise, how could she have ever expected her? Mehendi's parents had both been as black as she, though her mother wore the same patchwork of white that ripples over her own skin, and the child's sire had been a creamy white. No, she had expected her child to be dark like her, perhaps a shade lighter, with her father's coat, but never that she would be as golden as the sun rising above the light fog of the Meadow. He had had that marking across his flank, though, like stars swirling in the sky, and their daughter shares that with him.
"Beryl," the mare calls gently, "come along, I want to show you something."
When Beryl stops and turns to her dam, Mehendi cannot help but look at the red and blue and shining gold that splashes across one shoulder, dripping down her forearm. She is otherwise markingless, not a sock, not a star, but what else than this does she need to stand out? The filly turns her curled ears forward until the tips kiss one another. At least she has this of me, another soft smile curves across dark lips as her daughter falls against her side in search of a hug and a laughing breath blown playfully into those ears so that they wiggle and flap. Beryl squirms away again from her dam with a delighted laugh, twisting her neck left and right, while the piebald mare begins to move off without looking back. She knows her daughter will follow close behind and does not need to watch her. The golden filly stops long enough to sniff a sluggish ladybug - one of the very last of this season - before picking up her trot on quick legs. They were built for fast travel, with slim bodies and long legs, deep chests and wide nostrils. Desert-bred, mostly, and today they were finally leaving the still-temperate Meadow to find the desert once again.
Mama said that that is where Papa lives! Beryl remembers, excited both to see a new land, and to meet her sire. Her mother has told her very little about him - Mehendi, of course, knows very little about him, their coupling having simply been a random, passing, fancy, but that, of course, is not the sort of thing one tells a child so young. She knows so little about him, she has not even heard the rumors of his disappearance, does not know, as she turns north and east for Pangea, that she will find Litotes gone and the kingdom under a very different rule. Mehendi knows none of those things, and so, as the shadow of the mountain looms ahead, she lengthens her stride to an easy canter and the lanky-legged filly races ahead.
Dark eyes follow the young foal, watchful of her every step, though the mare does not call her back. Though magic litters the land nowhere more strongly than here, falling like snow from the mountain home of the Fairies, she does not call her back. She lets her instead dart off to weave between the scrub pine whose trunks grow at wide intervals. Mehendi will not smother her child, Beryl must learn to navigate the world on her own. A thought which, a moment later, strikes the tobiano like a hammer. When Beryl does not emerge from the other side of a tree after passing beneath its shadow, her laughter silenced in a second, ended with knife-cut precision, black ears flick forward and panic grips her heart. Mehendi surges off the path to the tree that has eaten her daughter - all the worst scenarios playing in her head - and even as she charges forward, her heart shrinks away, not ready to find what she is so sure she will see; her child dead at the Fairies' doorstep. Her breath shudders as she comes around the tree trunk, wild with anger and regret and despair.
But Beryl is not there.
"Mama?" A familiar voice cuts through the fog of bewilderment and Mehendi lifts her sorrowful head as though it is weighted, heavy and slow, and searching eyes find Bery well ahead, beside another tree rising up on the path the spotted mare had left only a moment ago. How could the golden girl move so quickly? Relief floods her, overwhelms her, and she races to her, nearly bowling the child over as she flies to meet her, pulls her close and breathes the warm meadow-grass smell of her into her lungs. Speed. Surely it is only that, the mare thinks as she holds the filly tight against her pounding chest, tears staining the bright gold of her coat. A strange voice in the back of her mind calls out a warning, but she ignores it. Mehendi's sire was fast. Her daughter is fast. Still... The voice insists, but no. She banishes the misgivings with a heavy sigh and releases her grip on her daughter, but lets her muzzle remain in the hollow behind the girls' hooked ears.
"My Love, I want you to stay close to me for now. Perhaps it is not safe to run so free just here. The Fairies are fickle and there will be plenty of space to run when we reach your father's land."
Her mother's voice comes with a hesitation that Beryl is not used to, a trepidation that causes it to shake, that causes a cold sliver of fear to ice its way up her spine. Brown eyes grow wide, the light catching on pale lashes as it peers through the evergreen needles above them, and the filly nods and steps closer to her dam, pulling comfort from her warm, broad, side and the steadying rhythm of her heart. She nods and agrees, because she is not entirely certain how she came to be on the path so far ahead, or how to explain the yellow eyes that led her there.
With her breath calmed and the touch of Beryl's nose soft on her flank, Mehendi takes up the trail again at a walk. It will take much longer to reach the kingdom this way, but she can stand no more heartsick moments. No more surprises. The palomino filly is quiet beside her for a time, her steps more cautious, more measured, but as the sun reaches its zenith and the shadows grow shorter, the pair grow light-hearted again. The day is beautiful, and the brightness relieves the fear that choked them, makes Beryl nearly incandescent. She glows so brightly that, stopping for a short rest, Mehendi wonders how she could have ever lost her, even for a second. Impossible, the filly fills her eyes with golden light.
With a squeal, Beryl takes off after a brown rabbit foraging nearby, chasing the long-eared thing to its burrow between a pair of hawthorn trees. The rabbit escapes into the earth despite the palomino's incredible speed. She is fast, but too young, too uncoordinated, and her legs take her too far, plunging into the shadows between.
Her light cuts out. Her voice snaps out of the air.
And she doesn't come back, this time.
"Beryl," the mare calls gently, "come along, I want to show you something."
When Beryl stops and turns to her dam, Mehendi cannot help but look at the red and blue and shining gold that splashes across one shoulder, dripping down her forearm. She is otherwise markingless, not a sock, not a star, but what else than this does she need to stand out? The filly turns her curled ears forward until the tips kiss one another. At least she has this of me, another soft smile curves across dark lips as her daughter falls against her side in search of a hug and a laughing breath blown playfully into those ears so that they wiggle and flap. Beryl squirms away again from her dam with a delighted laugh, twisting her neck left and right, while the piebald mare begins to move off without looking back. She knows her daughter will follow close behind and does not need to watch her. The golden filly stops long enough to sniff a sluggish ladybug - one of the very last of this season - before picking up her trot on quick legs. They were built for fast travel, with slim bodies and long legs, deep chests and wide nostrils. Desert-bred, mostly, and today they were finally leaving the still-temperate Meadow to find the desert once again.
Mama said that that is where Papa lives! Beryl remembers, excited both to see a new land, and to meet her sire. Her mother has told her very little about him - Mehendi, of course, knows very little about him, their coupling having simply been a random, passing, fancy, but that, of course, is not the sort of thing one tells a child so young. She knows so little about him, she has not even heard the rumors of his disappearance, does not know, as she turns north and east for Pangea, that she will find Litotes gone and the kingdom under a very different rule. Mehendi knows none of those things, and so, as the shadow of the mountain looms ahead, she lengthens her stride to an easy canter and the lanky-legged filly races ahead.
Dark eyes follow the young foal, watchful of her every step, though the mare does not call her back. Though magic litters the land nowhere more strongly than here, falling like snow from the mountain home of the Fairies, she does not call her back. She lets her instead dart off to weave between the scrub pine whose trunks grow at wide intervals. Mehendi will not smother her child, Beryl must learn to navigate the world on her own. A thought which, a moment later, strikes the tobiano like a hammer. When Beryl does not emerge from the other side of a tree after passing beneath its shadow, her laughter silenced in a second, ended with knife-cut precision, black ears flick forward and panic grips her heart. Mehendi surges off the path to the tree that has eaten her daughter - all the worst scenarios playing in her head - and even as she charges forward, her heart shrinks away, not ready to find what she is so sure she will see; her child dead at the Fairies' doorstep. Her breath shudders as she comes around the tree trunk, wild with anger and regret and despair.
But Beryl is not there.
"Mama?" A familiar voice cuts through the fog of bewilderment and Mehendi lifts her sorrowful head as though it is weighted, heavy and slow, and searching eyes find Bery well ahead, beside another tree rising up on the path the spotted mare had left only a moment ago. How could the golden girl move so quickly? Relief floods her, overwhelms her, and she races to her, nearly bowling the child over as she flies to meet her, pulls her close and breathes the warm meadow-grass smell of her into her lungs. Speed. Surely it is only that, the mare thinks as she holds the filly tight against her pounding chest, tears staining the bright gold of her coat. A strange voice in the back of her mind calls out a warning, but she ignores it. Mehendi's sire was fast. Her daughter is fast. Still... The voice insists, but no. She banishes the misgivings with a heavy sigh and releases her grip on her daughter, but lets her muzzle remain in the hollow behind the girls' hooked ears.
"My Love, I want you to stay close to me for now. Perhaps it is not safe to run so free just here. The Fairies are fickle and there will be plenty of space to run when we reach your father's land."
Her mother's voice comes with a hesitation that Beryl is not used to, a trepidation that causes it to shake, that causes a cold sliver of fear to ice its way up her spine. Brown eyes grow wide, the light catching on pale lashes as it peers through the evergreen needles above them, and the filly nods and steps closer to her dam, pulling comfort from her warm, broad, side and the steadying rhythm of her heart. She nods and agrees, because she is not entirely certain how she came to be on the path so far ahead, or how to explain the yellow eyes that led her there.
With her breath calmed and the touch of Beryl's nose soft on her flank, Mehendi takes up the trail again at a walk. It will take much longer to reach the kingdom this way, but she can stand no more heartsick moments. No more surprises. The palomino filly is quiet beside her for a time, her steps more cautious, more measured, but as the sun reaches its zenith and the shadows grow shorter, the pair grow light-hearted again. The day is beautiful, and the brightness relieves the fear that choked them, makes Beryl nearly incandescent. She glows so brightly that, stopping for a short rest, Mehendi wonders how she could have ever lost her, even for a second. Impossible, the filly fills her eyes with golden light.
With a squeal, Beryl takes off after a brown rabbit foraging nearby, chasing the long-eared thing to its burrow between a pair of hawthorn trees. The rabbit escapes into the earth despite the palomino's incredible speed. She is fast, but too young, too uncoordinated, and her legs take her too far, plunging into the shadows between.
Her light cuts out. Her voice snaps out of the air.
And she doesn't come back, this time.
Beryl
Litotes x Mehendi