[open] like you're made of glass, any

[basilica]

Basilica

Her mother had taken her to Tephra all those years ago and her grandmother had looked at her and said, ‘she’s beautiful’. But it had not felt like home. 

Home had felt like: a friend’s smile as they’d walked through the Playground side-by-side headed for no place in particular. 

Home had felt like: a dream thing come to stand beside her at the river’s edge as she had bled, counting the stars he had wished into her hair.

Home had felt like: the forest as the sun had exploded back into the sky and vanquished the darkness after she had vowed to charge into battle beside a stranger.

And then home had felt like no place at all when she had woken one day and realized that she was alone again. Alone, alone, always so dreadfully alone. Because the friend had told her that they had never been friends and she had not been able to find that dream thing again and she and the stranger had parted ways in search of their stars.

There is a strong heart in the cage of that chest and with it comes a strong want. So, she walks and she bears the scars of the darkness like so many others. (Because she had not had the strength to heal herself. She had been so tired, you see. So horribly tired.) She thinks about her comrade and her dream thing and her friend who was not a friend and so many countless others. Her mother, her father, her grandmother. 

And when she reaches Loess something calls to her, something that asks her to stop. And she does and she turns her head into the wind and listens, waits to see if this place will call itself home. 

HEAVEN’S GATES HAD SUCH ELOQUENT GRAFFITI

bassy would like to live here please

[Cheri]

A few days before the inevitable, a few days after the incomprehensible: that is Cheri’s state of being in the time she crossed paths with the mare made of ink and cottony clouds. Unlike the new arrival, her scars are not visible; once she was selfish and knew only the vague inclinations of her craft, of what it could do, and she used it selfishly to smooth out her pelt and the pelts of the horses she loved, effectively erasing the memories from their flesh if not from their hearts. Since then, Cheri had learned more and wanted more from herself. She understood that her power was to be given and not reserved for those she deemed worthy. Her heart demanded it of her and her conscience felt satisfied each time she was allowed the chance to do exactly that: help someone, anyone else.

Not that she expected the newcomer to need or want her help. She gave it freely anyways, ascending from a low-hanging cluster of thick autumn clouds with a whirl and a tilt that belied her good mood and even greater health. Targaryen hadn’t come home to her in some time, leaving the appaloosa mare’s covey a bit colder at night now that winter was fast approaching, but she assumed that he’d returned to Taiga for the moment. (Much deeper than that was the prickling fear he hadn’t, and she was determined to make sure in good time.)

All in good time.

The horse at the edges of Loessian territory was a mare. Her pelt, like Cheri’s, was mostly black. Interrupting the solid color was a few patches of smooth white, which Cheri could see had no clear edge to them but enhanced the look anyways. These days she had a knee-jerk aversion to any palomino or lightly-colored chestnut that wasn’t related to her or her dear friend Ledger, though she did her best to hide that reaction whenever necessary. No need for a cover up today, though.

The black sabino earned a high, clear note of recognition (a greeting of sorts, friendly in nature) from the ascending diplomat who cantered down from the sky and struck the bare earth of the midwestern-esque landscape with her pink hooves rolling. Her wings adjusted themselves, giving her drag instead of lift, and eventually Cheri found herself approaching the unknown horse with a wide smile and the quick, lovely toss of her narrow head.

“I saw you waiting from on high.” Cheri called out, slowing her pace from a chipper trot down to a quick halt about a length away. Close enough for them to get familiar, but not near enough to give the other horse a claustrophobic feeling. “I’m Cheri, a diplomat here. Maybe I could help you?”

@basilica I've decided we don't have enough threads together.