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i don't want to die - Official - 08-12-2012 Poppy March 2nd, 2012 at 2:32am She was tired, but she didn't want to sleep, and so she stayed awake, stayed awake for the fall of the sun and the rise of the moon and the lift of the sun again. Even though she was tired, she had energy; the small patches of wilted plants that marked her trail proved that. She wasn't trying to kill the plants, she was really just walking, and if they wilted that happened but she did not want to rest, so she didn't. Besides, it was cold so most of the plants were gone anyway. This made her sad when she thought about it, and the vines on her body wilted forlornly, which was never a good sign, because it meant she'd start wanting the plants to grow, and if they grew she would get more tired, and she did not want to sleep. So she stopped thinking about the cold and kept walking, and the plants kept wilting and the cold was still there and she kept remembering it. It was a viscous cycle, really. She wasn't entirely sure where she was going, she just felt like walking so she did. It had been a very long time since she saw anyone else like her, and she was quite curious to remember what they were like, and if they liked plants, and how much they ate on a daily basis, and how many of them were named 'Robert'. She thought Robert was a nice name, and that maybe she would name a child that one day. It never occurred to her that Robert wasn't really the sort of name you give a girl, and that if she had a child there was a good chance she would have a girl- she liked the name, so it didn't matter. She would have a baby with eyes like flowers and a coat like grass and a tail like a vine. She would raise it to be happy and eat plants and maybe sometimes birds and to always walk straight. She would love it and it would never grow up or leave her, ever. Something shiny caught her eye, and she forgot about Robert entirely. She had been walking through a forest, which meant far more energy and far less herbicide. Her grey coat rippled as her vines creeped across it, sending out cautious tendrils that successfully betrayed her interest with the surrounding area. She smelled something funny, kind of like lemon or bluebells or raspberries right before they got juicy. It was oddly familiar and frightening and exciting, and she tensed in the cold, the leaves of her vines rustling anxiously. Her body nearly quivering, she raised her nose to the air like a sent hound, sniffing with gusto as she sought out the source of the aroma. Something tingled in the back of her muddled brain, the image of a figure that was large and black and maybe, maybe.... Then something else distracted her and she lost the memory and scent of other horses. Pivoting abruptly, she turned her body to face east, directly into the wind. It was cold, but again she ignored it, just like she ignored the tired, passively absorbing the energy from nearby plants. They didn't seem to mind; this forest was old, and full of strength. Her attention had been drawn to something on her right. There was a fantastic, ancient cherry tree tucked away on the edge of a clearing, its scent buffeting her nostrils via the wind. Somehow it had managed to survive the frigid winters here, and stubbornly grow like its compatriots. She inched towards it, tail flicking eagerly, black eyes bright with maroon excitement. "Pretty," she muttered, the vines on her body shifting eagerly. As she approached, she suddenly realized that the tree was quite inactive, and not blooming, and therefore boring. This was no good. She wanted it to flower. So it did. In the middle of winter, at the base of a mountain, on the outskirts of a forest, a cherry tree stood in full, glorious bloom. At its base lay the crumpled form of a small, scrawny horse with odd black markings and a splash of poppy red on her shoulder, grey (well, greyer than usual) from exhaustion and fast asleep. Within a ten foot radius of her, all but the strongest plant life was dead. Gossamer the Benevolent March 2nd, 2012 at 5:00am Hooves crunch snow quietly, nearly silent in the empty blackness of the night. Through the black velvet curtain of cold weaves a mare of white, gleaming silver against the moon. She had not meant to go wandering on such a terrible night, but her hooves had been restless, fueled by thoughts of the quickly approaching first herd meeting, where she would have to say many things. She had wandered here, thinking to help any stray in need of a refuge, when Lazulli, who had flown ahead on a late night hunt, sent her a message about a strange mare who seemed to keep getting lost. How strange, Gossamer had thought, I hope she isn't delirious from the cold. Thus, the Chieftess of the Windtossed Foothills had found herself wandering about in the night for a strange mare. She didn't want to open her mind for searching, tonight her mind was supposed to be hers alone, but she could not wander about for forever in this cold. Reluctantly, the pearl colored mare opened her mind to search out that of another's. What she found confused her for several moments. Strewn in every direction were tendrils of very strong thoughts with the remnant leaving Gossamer able to discipher only vague ideas about direction and something named Robert. She felt bizarrely overwhelmed before she realized the mare must be insane, easily distracted, or delirious from the cold. It was a shame, but no other herd would welcome her and treat her kindly. She had promised herself she would take the weak, the downtrodden, and the lonely of other herdlands and show them kindness just as she would to any other horse she welcomed into her herd. One cannot run a refuge if they don't want to bother with refugees. The lead decided to take precautions in case the mare was, indeed, insane and began to walk slightly more firmly to make her approach heard if one chose to listen closely. She walked, in the moonlit night, directly towards the mare before stopping a decent distance away. "Hello Wanderer, I am Gossamer the Benevolent, leader of the herdlands called the Windtossed Foothills, would you like somewhere warmer to stay perhaps? " Her voice was kind and reassuring, topped with calm, and she exuded care as she waited for the mares response, her white hide and long mane and tail acting as a brace against the cold, but not helping nearly enough for her liking. Poppy March 4th, 2012 at 5:26pm Everything was oddly fuzzy as she lay there, like the caterpillars that crawled over leaves in the spring, the fuzzy ones that would roll up if she poked them and then stop moving if she stepped on them. She liked stepping on the caterpillars, especially after rolling them around. The fact that they died did not really bother her. Things died. Maybe something would step on her, and she would die. She wondered what that would feel like, being stepped on. Then she stopped wondering, because she realized that she had been thinking about something else, and could not remember what it was. She frowned, and then realized that she couldn't frown because her face was too cold, and frowned at that, and realized she couldn't. Eventually she grew tired of trying to frown and decided to look around her. The first thing she realized was that she was lying on the ground. This puzzled her, because she could not remember how she got to the ground. She thought she spent most of her time standing; but maybe she was wrong? She could be wrong. Maybe she belonged on the ground. After all, there were lots of plants on the ground, and she liked plants. But the ground here was hard, and the plants were dead, and she did not really like it, so she decided that she would stand. She pulled one grey leg under her, and then another, and started to rise up from the ground. It didn't go very well, and a second later she realized that she was still on the ground. If she had noticed exactly how crumpled the vines on her body were, nearly receded into their roots from exhaustion, she may have understood better, but she was too focused on standing. She wanted to stand, and so she would, she decided. So she tried again, and failed again, and grew angry. She had landed on her stomach, sprawled uncomfortably upon the hard ground, and this bothered her too. The plants around her were offering no help, as they were all dead. Except one, but for some reason that one refused to give up any energy. It fought her magic, and she grew angry and fought back, until a sound made her forget her fight. It was accompanied by a scent, a pretty scent like lilacs and clover. She rolled onto her knees, then raised herself up into a sitting position, awkward and difficult to hold for a horse, but about the closest she could get to standing at this moment, and she had something she was leaning on, which intrigued her, and she started to look behind her to see what it was, and then there was more sound and she was distracted again. The first thing she noticed was that night had arrived, which would explain why things were extra cold. The next thing she noticed was that her legs hurt from staying in this position, but she refused to lie down again. And then, finally, she noticed the white mare, and her jaw dropped, black eyes opened wide. Even the vines on her rustles, creeping curiously towards her shoulders as though they too could see the mare if they got close enough. She stared at the mare, and when the other horse spoke, mindlessly echoed the words. "Wanshurur.... Goshamar... Fuut.... Fuutheils?" Ok, maybe she did not echo them. Her voice had emerged in a gravelly, ill-used cough, and between that and the cold numbing her face, she could barely get a word out of her dark maw, let alone pronounce it. She looked around now, needing something to offer in return, and finally looked up and saw the cherry tree. Still brilliantly in bloom, the tree almost shrunk in terror as she looked upon it. The fight was lost; magic seeped into the tree, taking back loaned strength, and the beautiful flowers began to fall, creating a flurry of pink and white in the moonlit clearing. She did not need enough energy to hill the tree completely; it would bloom again in spring, or maybe winter. She did not know. But she was standing now in the falling flowers, and the vines on her body squirmed with pleasure, producing flowers of her own like dark stains on her grey back. Pleased, she turned to the mare, eyes shining. "Pretty," she announced proudly, and took an ungainly step towards the white mare, head tilted and face eager. Gossamer the Benevolent March 6th, 2012 at 2:29am The mare fell in the blackness of the night and Gossamer and it was only then that she noticed that the ground all around the mare held no sleeping life, that it looked black as if a fire had burned everything around her. Dear gods, an insane mare with the a fire ability? This was not good. But she had fallen and Gossamer wouldn't let her just lay there. The mare struggled several times before Gossamer went over and gently nudged her, like she would her own foal, and the delirious one managed to get herself into a sitting position. Somewhat uncomfortable, but enough that the mare could get herself up when she finally noticed Goss's presence. As she helped the mare, Gossamer could not help but notice the strange and wilted pattern of flowers on her hide. With a shrug she left her curiosity be as she awaited the mare to reply to her words. There wasn't one. They seemed to reach the poor mare in a delayed way, with her repeating Gossamer's words before managing to stand and move towards Gossamer the night continued to become stranger still as the mare who stood seemed to suck the life from the oddly blooming cherry tree. Cherry tree? She must have been tired if she hadn't noticed that oddity in the middle of the clearing. Quickly, Gossamer changed her thoughts to a horse who has the abilities to manipulate nature. She didn't like powers that allowed the killings of, well, anything but she couldn't judge a mare who probably didn't know. The mare walked towards her with a raspy spoken word: pretty. Gossamer wasn't quite sure if she should back away or move forward and take the mare under her care. She settled on speaking and then seeing where things went from there. When the mare was closer, but not too close she spoke very kindly and gently, "Sweet mare, please come with me. You will be cared for and warm where I live. Do not fear Little One." She called the mare thus because she seemed to need help, and she knew not her name yet, if she even had one. She eyed this lost but innocent mare, one so stuck in their mind they could not escape, and wished desperately there was a cure for insanity. Then, sadly, she closed off her mind from the mare. She knew that sharing thoughts with this mare too long could force her to the same fate, and that would not be good at all. Poppy March 8th, 2012 at 2:10am She did not understand the mare's hesitancy, or even register it, so entranced was she by the soft words she heard and kindness the white mare exuded. She was so pretty, so pretty, and so the poor little grey creature was compelled to say it again: "Pretty." The word was stronger this time, less raspy, but still lisped into the frigid air through nearly frozen lips. Despite her cold, though, and the exhaustion still coursing through her veins like some sort of reverse adrenalin, she was excited, excited to be welcomed and seen and spoken too and excited by the pretty mare and the falling cherry blossoms like so much snow and the flowers now blooming happily across her sides proved this. The mare spoke again, her words, the little grey mare thought, like rain falling on a lily pad, soft and fast and soothing and to her the most wonderful sound ever except maybe the sound of a flower blooming in the spring under the bright sun. She did not understand all the words, but there was one that struck a chord, and filled her with delight. "Come," she echoed, head bobbing eagerly in comprehension and agreement, black eyes bright with excitement. Then she stepped forward, coming, walking, going, somewhere new. She did not stop to think about where she was going, because that did not matter to her - she was going, that was the thing to focus on now, the actual journey of the thing. She walked towards the white mare, head bobbing, coming. She would follow a step behind the mare, perhaps too close for comfort, but she was comfortable and she was following so it was good. Yes. It was good. Gossamer the Benevolent March 10th, 2012 at 4:00am Gossamer stared at the pretty, but un-comprehending mare before her and was saddened. She could see much within the mare, but it was all locked away by her insanity. Perhaps, perhaps she would better with some warmth. The mare followed her tentatively, as if Gossamer could be bothered by her presence, but the Benevolent held up her steps and walked next to the poor, tired mare and gave her warmth and a shoulder to lean on, holding her up as they journeyed home. |