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01-02-2015, 01:36 PM
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Ophelia the Forsaken
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The beginning of birdsong had brought disaster. She still ached from two battles, chewed angrily at her teeth from the challenge, and had barely managed to set tenuous relations with the Throat only to have that turned on its head by one little snit. Gaucho would know. There was no escaping the fact that he would harbor anger for this attempt so shortly after they made their agreements, but time had flown and she had barely had a chance to breathe let alone alert the herd to new relations. Her mortality was showing, and she took a deep breath. She had shed her armor back in the Aurora Basin and walked, exposing her wounds to the elements and striding uncomfortably south. Through day and night, she pressed onward, only stopping when necessary. The normal dance of her lofty gait was reduced to a shuffle, and with each step, her anger, impotent, grew like a knot in her belly. The gods enjoyed using her as a pathway to step no, it seemed. The moment she was in power, the responsibilities piled. Before she even knew names, she had to protect them from their consequences. Now, her half-brother was shacking up with some arrogant bitch who was too prideful to realize her miserably weakened state, and Mauja. Her mind went blank at the recollection of what happened, and she shoved it far away, trying not to have to work through all of those emotions now. Ophelia shook her head lightly, showing up at the entrance of the Dragon's Throat. So long ago it seemed, she had brought Knox from this very spot to the Oasis to drink. The little, dark boy and his pup had been to the point of death. She still remembered the pathway that she took, right through the sands where bright green blooms dotted the otherwise vacant landscape. Here was where her identity had been stolen by Kri's captives. She had left then, finding the mare's leadership ineffectual. Ophelia had no intention of yelling or causing a fight. Her throat burned already. Someone would fly by, no doubt, and find her standing at the threshold, waiting. With burns along her sides and a gash that had finally stopped bleeding, she would be patient. @[Gaucho] |
 Undertow has come to take me. Guided by the blazing sun. Look at everything around us. Look at everything we've done. Please. Anyone. I don't think I can save myself. I'm drowning. |
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