I want my life to be art."
-Carrie Fisher
The Gates. Of course, the name means very little to the girl, but she finds it just as appealing as the glowing swarm of fireflies that dance around her head, or the exhilarating scent of lavender that tickles her nostrils, or the benevolent woman that stands before her. Her body nearly vibrates with excessive energy, but she listens quietly and as patiently as she can while Myrna speaks. For a moment, she wonders what is meant by ‘new-old’, but Myrna continues and describes an innate pull to the Gates. Sky tilts her head inquisitively and laughs, not unkindly, but because she cannot imagine anyone believing this place to be silly.
“I don’t think it’s silly at all, this place is like magic and I really like it here!”
A sharp squeal of delight follows quickly as Myrna offers up the Gates as their new home. The black filly hops in place several times, wings whipping the nearby willow branches into a frenzy to match the excitement swelling in her young heart.
“I’d love to share a home with you!” She continues in her celebration, though without as much volume. It’s a good thing, too, for she might have missed hearing Myrna’s name. If she could clap her hands as a joyous human child might, she would be doing so in this very moment.
“I’m glad I met you, Myrna.. you’re much nicer than my family.”
There is an edge of hunger in her voice. It is not born of being raised in an unsightly land, but of being subjected to emotional ugliness almost daily. The humorless ribbings, the irritated sighs, the angry admonitions—all because of her exuberance, her curiosity, her being herself. She cannot help but cling to the acceptance and kindness, the potential to create a new family, that Myrna gives her.
A yawn splits her face briefly as the night continues to descend upon them and she draws a bit closer to the mare, a trace of drowsiness beginning to creep over the dark grey eyes she turns up at Myrna. “Do you have any stories about the Gates? I’d like to hear them, if you do..”
@
Viszla