they want rain without thunder and lightning



At first there was only warmth, darkness; a foal suspended in a bubble of security and invulnerability, immune to the happenings of the world around her. And then, there was light; pure, blinding light, everywhere, encompassing her, cascading her in a dank shower of cold and a slight wetness. Electric blue eyes absorbed everything, silently frantic, her legs jumbled beneath her as she shied away from this new-found freedom - it was somewhat frightening.

Her feeble, lanky mass of legs and wing lay recoiled on the sandy loam behind a dark figure much larger than her own. The mare before her, she smelled of heartsease and simplicity. She sought to be near her, and her knobby knees conveyed her closer to the warmth that seemed to radiate from the mare's dark form. The filly's roaned ebony fur was dank and darkened with birth fluid, her long, spindly lashes batting laudably as her young eyes adjusted to the opulence of the world around her. She felt cold, exposed; then there came a voice, gentle and goading.

It was as if she had heard it before, somewhere. It had existed as a faint murmur, a far off thrum of solace and comfort. But it was different now. It was louder, clearer, sharper. It spoke to her bones, eliciting some sort of inner riposte.

Frail limbs churned beneath her, struggling to flex as she searched blindly for the noise - that beautiful, soothing sonance. Her barrel rose and fell, and from her lips there came a soft bleat of sorts, almost like a plea. The sound was foreign, even to the babe's own ears, which flopped idly to the side of her petite face. There was some sort of sedating effect imparted by her dam's licking, and she sat almost motionless, her vigorous mind clambering to analyze her surroundings. There were so many smells, so many sounds. The grass felt rough beneath her knees, the wind was chilly, and throughout the air there lingered a practically palpable aura of love.

Another figure entered her vision, and she shied away from it as it approached, leaning into Cassiopeia's warmth. Gently, her mother nudged her forward, breathing words of encouragement in calm, amative trills. Azulee, she called her. Little did she know, this would be the name that would define her, sculpt her. To her, of course, at that moment, it sounded little more than an agglomerate of sound.