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03-18-2013, 01:46 PM
 Be it flood, or be it fire
I will come in times most dire I have come to you, mighty deities of this land. I have felt your pull, and I have responded to your call. The tresses of my dark mane whip around my sloping face as I stare intently into the vast opening before me. My journey through the breathtaking forest had been a long one, running the course of three days at the very least. My long legs tremble slightly from the trek and my head aches from the lack of sleep, but I dared not waste any time in meeting my Gods. They had a strict schedule to keep -- no matter how much they enjoyed their meddling in mortal affairs -- and it was my duty as vessel for the Gods to aid them in their influence. The tiara of feathers upon my cranium makes clacking noises as I turned my face into the whispering breeze; the long, speckled feathers collide into one another and onto the blue gem that my headdress holds, the necklace of feathers around my neck following suit. Squinting my eyes at the light and at the wind, I look back at the edge of the tall, lush forest that I had now left behind. The feeling of wonder and amazement envelopes my creamy-dun body at the sight of such a beautiful work of art. My Gods must have taken much care in creating the gates to their domain. Swinging my head back to the front of my body, I shift the weight from one hind leg to another nonchalantly, deciding that it would be best to wait for another creature to come and welcome me. I did not have any control over which animal was to greet me -- it could be a mountain lion hungry for its meal and I would feel at home nonetheless. Who was I to question the acts of the Gods? As long as I was given the chance to meet with each bands' leaders, I would be happy. I wouldn't be a very good vessel to my Lords and Ladies if I did not know of each herd and their ruler, nor would I be a very successful healer. My thick lips curl themselves into a smile at the word; healer. My memories begin to pull up images of my past, images of my beautiful, skilled, medicine mare of a mother. She was indeed the best in her profession, and had passed on her superior knowledge and skills to me, but alas, her heart was not in the right place. You should have been open to all, dear mother, as I will be. You should not have chosen sides-- your determination to come out on top was your own undoing. And now I must make my pilgrimage in this place; to right the wrongs that you so readily contrived. Walk walk walk. "Talk talk talk".  |
