.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
 The wariness, the discomfort within Tyra’s eyes was nearly heartbreaking – why had she been rendered into such a state? What propelled her into these ruins, into these fashions of split nuances and capricious foils, flamed and abashed as panic contorted and controlled her voice? The questions volley back and forth, strings of uncertainties laden with infinite doubts, like swirling clouds, wisps, puffs of confusion in a torrent, in a barrage, of unease and trepidation. Lena does her best to steal and ensnare the apprehension, the dismay, the terror and anxieties away, building a humming flare of song and life, flickering, luminescent clarity from her throat. A lilting ditty entered into another refrain, calm, composed, kind, gentle gaze boring into the mare’s golden slits in effort to convey serenity, tranquility; that despite the essence of their world, not everything sought to destroy. “You may leave if you find a land unsuitable.” No one, as far as she was aware, had been chained and locked into the confines of their homes, imprisoned in a kingdom they’d traversed, found, to ensnare shelter and sanctuary. They were not hostages in their palaces, released only when fortitudes and foundations were found adequate. Hushed and collected, the nurse continued, hoping to provide ease, a keen, ardent sentiment, erasing all these heightened measures of alarm and hysteria warping the foundation of invitation and generosity. Patience, a glowing bulb, undaunted alms, aimed a soothing, assuaging presentation amidst the sights, the sounds, of her reformed aria. “Why wouldn’t they accept you?" The tolerant, forbearing, enduring stare never flickered away, attempting to gather the precipice from which the mare had fallen, resume regrowth and renewal in persevering dedication. “There are many of us – Unicorns, Equines, and Pegasus alike.” The exact number was indiscernible, and Lena had never given enough time or exploration to befit a proper answer. Instead, she drew back into silence, composure, grace and elegance, posturing a relaxed pose and prose while Tyra queried and quelled. Lena</style> |
