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02-15-2015, 02:41 PM
They follow her like flies, tempted to the prize as she has been many times before. Whenever the kindness that once found her facial features subsides, she goes to the real issue.
Rhoa arrives too late, and with all the stories finished(Scarecrow silent as ever, more to her idea that the colt was mute, or either choose not to use his vocal cords by his will), there was more to fight for. Words were simple, complex, and held some sort of meaning when they split from the lips of those about her. Her distance was kept from all of them.
In the past, she had been ridiculed for the accidental following of another by the same bird, and wasn't about to repeat the process. The current state of her sunburned skin added more to her reason to not be around them. A slow caress was agony.
"I am not dead, alive, simply foreign, haunting anarchist nightmares."
Was she truly haunting nightmares? It was merely a story, conjured in attempts to make sense. The previous had been more difficult than the current; words that began with x and z did not fall from the sky to burrow into one's skull.
Her eyes move towards the egg and the bird, scanning over it's feathers and the sight that it painted for her tired eyes. Where did the eggs come from? The tongue within her enclosed mouth twitched in the greed of knowing the answer, selfishly playing the game as the rest did. Where her attempts at gaining something more than just company, friendship, actual family being heralded in from a kidnapping? She shakes the thought from her head.
No, the eggs come from somewhere else, maybe a gift, maybe adoption, surely something that isn't kidnapping.
you were angels,
so much more than everything
:: please tag me
:: minor force and power play allowed
