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GULL
trouble just grew wings
“Hello? …Are you okay?” The sweet voice, quiet and concerned, floats through the air, settling lightly down upon you like the soft caress of a feather adrift on the breeze. Pale eyes turn towards the source of the sound, and you find that you seem to have stumbled upon some sort of cherry blossom incarnate: the girl is pink in the truest sense of the word, draped in shades of magenta from fetlock to forelock, with the only exceptions being touches of gold glinting here and there. And from her withers, four—yes, four—magnificent wings sprout, loosely unfurled as she wonders aloud whatever could be the matter.
You don’t blink at her appearance, as you would have before this morning on the beach. If something as awful as a creature with both horns and wings can exist, why not she? Yet you do not despise her for the extra appendages; in truth you find them magnificent, comforting even in the assurance that the blood of your kind still runs strong (more than strong) in the veins of some. Wearily, you wonder what it might be like to be held in the firm softness of wings such as those. Unbidden, you have the sudden urge to press your face into them and feel the down, hear the feathers rustle and shift, and know that they are real.
But she asked you a question. Peach muzzle crinkles as your lips tighten instinctively, but you offer her a noncommittal shrug. “I’ll be all right,” you reply, chest still heaving from your flight. “I’m lucky that way,” you mutter between breaths, more of an aside than a response. There is a bitter emphasis placed upon the word “lucky,” for though the fickle Lady has kept you alive, it has not stopped the mistress of fate from tossing you about like a child’s plaything. For a moment, you are silent, brooding over this realization. And then, because you don’t know what else to say, you lift your eyes to the mare’s. “How are you?”
Perhaps it is strange, to be asking so familiar a question to a complete stranger, but it’s all you can think of. It would be rude to walk away, and even though manners are not your forté, a part of you is moved that she would enquire after you. So you hold her gaze, wondering how this stranger finds herself this evening. Hopefully better than you.
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