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Breathless and laughing, she reeled inside the tunnel wrought of ice, cloven hooves clattering against compacted snow in their maddened hurry. Blue reflections played across her dark baby fur like faerie lights, casting an ethereal glow over the dancing body. Pale walls blurred pass her gaze, shimmering like glass as she surged past them; sometimes when she would tilt her head to look at the shadows, she could just barely make out the profiles of faces, and she imagined they were the ghosts of great unicorns long passed. Her giggles echoed madly through the cavern, fading to a grotesque cackle as the sound died, lingering in the crevices and niches of the ice like bad dreams. It caused the girl to laugh harder, and she pushed herself forward even faster; long legs devoured the ground, hungry for speed as they smote down upon the snow, hurtling the lithe body through the tunnel at breakneck speed. Where the memory of her reckless strides were imprinted upon the ground, small bunches of flowers sprouted, obscenely colorful against the achromatic backdrop. Pale yellow arctic poppy, violet saxifrage, alpine forget-me-nots, all sprouting in paltry clumps of fluorescence, leaving a florid trail in her wake. She continued until sweat darkened her baby fur and every inhale seemed shorter and more laboured than the last. Wet nostrils flared as they took in the frigid, stale tundra air, hurting her chest as it invaded her lungs. Her pace slowed to an ungainly lope, too-long legs slipping and tripping over the half-melted ice. They gained equilibrium just in time to see the light of day flood as it sprawled ponderously over the delicate face and the gaunt body, glinting on the half-grown horn, shimmering like nacre in the sunlight. As the liquid brightness faded into something discernible, she noticed dark shapes moving throw the pallor of snow. Sudden panic rose in her throat, gripping it like an iron vice; did Mama and Papa follow her here? Would they reprimand her for this unsanctioned outing, bar her from ever leaving the Basin again? Cloven hooves pressed into the earth at once, sending a wave of dirt sprawling over melting snow. Eyes squinted, studying the forms further—they were not her parents at all! Rather, a pair of colts as ungainly as herself, the buds of horns obvious on their foreheads, and a dog trailing behind them. She almost heaved a sigh of relief, but she realized what they were. Boys. Mama and Papa had warned her about them; bandits and swindlers, that lot, ruthless crooks who would stop at nothing to achieve their wicked means. Head tilted downward, the harmless stub of her pearlescent weapon inclined towards the two colts. "Who're you?" Lothíriel demanded, attempting to channel Papa's menace her high, delicate voice; it didn't work as well as she thought—the threat sounded more like birdsong. She would have to resort to other measures. She would make Papa proud; she would protect the Basin and all the land surrounding it. The arch cast blue shadows over the filly's body as she stood on its threshold, lion's tail lashing deplorably as she studied them fiercely. A carpet of flowers bloomed idly beneath her feet, almost obscuring the cloven toes in blue and yellow and purple. They spread progressively over the snow, although the further the distance grew, the scarcer they were. One trotted and the other ambled in a strange way which piqued curiosity in the girl. They were both similar in age and stature, but bore diverse colors: one was steel and the other onyx, one had silver eyes and the other antonymous green and blue. "Your eyes don't match," she blurted out. Did he steal them? Lothíriel shuddered internally at the thought, wondering what sort of carnage would make a brigand (that's what they were, right?) claim another's eyes—she hoped they wouldn't take her eyes, for she was fond of watching the world through them. It was up to Lothíriel to prevent more eye-robberies. She would make Papa proud. But how would she stop these thieves from their imminent thievery without getting her immaculate fur dirtied? A worthy conundrum indeed. and when you're gone, will they love you the same? |
