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GULL
trouble just grew wings
You’ve been called many names in your life (most of them unpleasant, occasionally your own), but you swear that no one has ever called you ‘Gull’ before—at least, not the way she says it. You didn’t know there were ways to draw out one syllable, to make the guttural l’s purr like twin cats…to make it sound like a lover’s name. Muriel’s voice treats it with such tenderness, smoothing the jagged edges with the steady sweetness of her tone, just as water in a brook works away at a shard of rock until it is a mere pebble: rounded and harmless. It is a soft sigh, sent out into the long and slanting rays of the late afternoon sun, the precursor to the peace offering she extends in response to your plea.
“Of course, I apologize,” the pink mare returns delicately, but with a note of genuine sincerity in her words. For an instant, the smile flickers like a candle flame in the wind, and you feel a brief pang of regret for causing her any unhappiness; soon enough, however, her lips curve upwards once more and she graciously changes the subject. Very well, her eyes seem to say, and her mouth parts to put the matter to rest: “Let us forget about it then.”
With that, she turns in a brilliant display of wings, stepping off lightly towards one of the rivers that feeds these island falls. Magenta feathers spread, expanding and contracting enticingly—but just in case you don’t get the idea, she is courteous enough to send a lighthearted invitation over her shoulder. “Care to accompany me?” Muriel calls, tilting her head in your direction. Gratitude floods your heart in that moment for her tacit understanding, and silently you thank her. But you do not bother with words that will only catch in your throat—and besides, you are a man of action. Thus, you merely follow her, letting her lead you to the water…but if she looks closely, Muriel will see the corners of your mouth drawing up again.
Once at the riverbank, you wade in immediately, letting the cool water numb your fetlocks and your pain. Perhaps it is not saltwater, but it is good for your soul nonetheless—much as Muriel seems to be. It is uncanny, the way that this blossom of a girl understands you. You wonder…
Casting a sidelong glance at her, you slowly lift a hoof from the river…and strike it flat across the water’s surface. It is a small splash, experimental—tentative—but enough to send a fine spray in her direction. As you watch her from the corners of your eyes, awaiting her reaction, the ghost of a grin hovers just behind your lips. Muriel has already caught one smile today. Will she be able to bring another to light?
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