Bellisma

Fleet of foot, the gold streak runs and flees from the invasion, as it had become known in these lands. She flies over the earth, starting to dry from Orangemoon. Small puffs of dust plume from where her small hooves brush the surface, carrying her far from the sounds of battle. She ran for a long time, no longer following the path of the black and white filly. But it felt good to run, even if it was without direction. Running was doing something. Running was ensuring her freedom. Running was safe.

Her face, once pinched with fear, starts to relax as the burn in her muscles gives her a false sense of security. Surely she had placed enough room between herself and the battle. A dark swath of copper mars the sleek golden coat as her exertions bring sweat to her thin skin.

Her gallop pauses, and slows to a canter as her small ears flicker uncertainly. ‘Help, help, help…’ the repeated cry is said as an uncertain entreaty to the tall trees she suddenly finds herself in. The small voice entwined around the stillness that clung to the dark trunks. It was ominous here, you could feel the warning down to your bones.

The easy canter brings her upon the small filly. She starts to a stop, still and statuesque in uncertainty. She never was around foals, so she had never been conditioned to fear them. Though what didn’t Bellisma fear? That was how she survived, by being constantly afraid.

She huffed, irritated at herself. The terror she lived with was paralyzing, but surely she could outrun this filly if she became dangerous. The trees would halt her flight, and she didn’t look too quick- Bell’s eyes widen as she sees the scrapes on the young one’s legs.

“Ar-are you alright?” The surprise pulls the words from her mouth, she hadn’t encountered another hurt being that she could help. Rrazmik, her captor, had many maimed prisoners, but they all had been killed in front of her. She had been prohibited to help them. So this was a new aspect to her freedom, one she should- and would- embrace.

“What- what ‘help’ do you need, little one?” the informal endearment slipped out, quite out of character. She had never called anyone ‘little’ before, and honestly it was amusing to hear the small mare call anyone tiny. Indeed, the young filly was already half the size of she. “Are you calling for someone?” the uncertainty made her voice hushed, or perhaps it was the darkness of the forest. Certainly the filly could be waiting for help from her dam, and Bellisma wasn’t needed.

ooc| So she's not nursing, but technically since it's foaling season, she COULD let down milk if she hung around foals for long enough >.< womp womp. @[Zahra]