She was so lost.
In a whirlwind, Apollo had thrust himself back onto the horizon of her life. Disrupting the slow settlement she'd worked so hard to create. Lakota's emotions had been electrified and scattered to a violent wind, lost to her desperately grabbing hands. While she was reluctant to portray herself as a jealous or paranoid lover, her heart sank with every loving look the stallion would freely lay upon her mate. What concerned her even more perhaps were the fond answers, silent though they were, that Ktulu would respond with. Her heart and mind were in turmoil, clinging desperately to the memory of the Constrictor's agreement to have another foal, one carried by Lakota. To be candid, the Poisoner had conflicting feelings regarding the soft-spoken overo, but her monogamous loyalty refused to allow her even the consideration of those emotions.
Even worse, she had begun to lose herself. Her irritation with herd life, with the whining peaceful do-gooder denizens had surmounted all feelings of security and homeliness. Taskless and underrated, her prowess cast aside in favor of greenlings, Lakota was swiftly becoming murderous and cramped in the herdlands. She longed for the Foothills, her heart craved the Grey. She wanted her family back. And not just the family she'd magnetized towards herself, tucking to flank and heart alike, but the blood relatives who had disappeared once more from her life. The shame was overwhelming, to know that she'd let it happen so passively when she'd fought so hard to find them in previous seasons.
With every eve she found herself helplessly longing for her fratello. But last she had seen of him, he'd been crumpled and woozy, from her own magic at that. He had shoved her flightless from the nest she'd needed so badly at that moment.
He had abandoned her, for a weak mare that was better off dead for all her suicidal tendencies and aggravating self-deprecating habits.
Why was she so much better than Lakota? Why couldn't she win? Why had he left her, his sorellina?
Misunderstandings were littered throughout the entire confrontation, but her heart only knew pain. Shied away from it, for as much as Ktulu and love and her own desires for motherhood may have softened her, instinct and habit demanded she not allow the memory to harm her more than it had.
Preservation, perhaps.
Still, she was helpless and lost without her fratello. Lakota toyed with the idea of speaking with Ktulu, informing her of her intent to leave and seek out her elder brother. In the end she dismissed the notion. It would only further her emotional disarray, and Lakota tended to get violent and defensive when she felt her own weakness making an appearance. If she wanted to speak with Alleo she had to do so carefully. After all she'd practically drugged him and fled, she wouldn't blame him if he were to chase her away without considering her words. Even if it meant shattering her heart to realize once and for all that she was alone, her brother lost to her.
So she lost herself to the mists, slipping free unnoticed into the wilds. As if anyone would miss her, she snorted bitterly to herself. A once-queen, degraded into a mere servant. Overlooked. Oh, but not Ktulu. Ktulu was still heralded as a hero, her title far more freely used, and her rank speaking for itself. Lakota's bitterness was shocking, and she feared further for the secrets that lay within her psyche. That had always been Alleo's job, to know her heart's troubles and help her navigate them, socially and emotionally damaged as she was.
The air is cold, nearly biting as she ventures east. It is he only place she knows to look. Surely her fratello stayed in the Falls for his little broken china doll. Lakota could not resist another snort, a cloud of vapor tickling her muzzle in response. Lakota was damaged as well, but she had picked herself up, forcefully glued each shattered, bloodied piece back into place. What gave Rasta the right to parade around whimpering her agony, stealing away her brother's love when Lakota bravely shouldered (if at times concealed) her own cracks?
Hours slip by as she travels. The sun is bloody on the horizon, dying slowly even as it sheds its last colorful rays over the earth. Dusk slips like a blanket if reassurance over her shoulders as she approaches the herdlands. She does not cross, backpedaling when she first recognizes the scent markers. She had no desire to run into Midas, though he likely did not know her at all. Lifting her dark muzzle to the corresponding colors of the sky, she sings for him, weaving the telltale notes of her vocals to draw him out through recognition, familiarity. And then she waits, shamed and uncertain, tiny and haggard beneath the rising moon.
@[Alleo] this takes place just outside the borders ^___^
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[P] when the world gets loud, I get louder
