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Zahra, Ilham, and Hanna
It was pride that turned angels into devils
The sun-kissed stranger, cloth draped about his tall frame, lay so near to Zahra as she huddled against the fading warmth of her mother, that she drew from his breathing presence vague comfort – because she had been surrounded always up until mere weeks ago. She had always been the centre of a loud and spinning universe. As her hot tears soaked beneath the ragged grey hair adorning the limp neck of the mare, her aching eyes journeyed from their fiery veil to find him fallen alongside, a triangle they formed almost, thawing the frozen wasteland below. Before any word was uttered (the croak of death’s voice, the small comfort offered), the young foal was wondering about him – fleeing the painful world she had fallen into, and into one of make-believe which had delivered him so unfortunately to their side.
But words invaded her sanctuary, inevitably (there was to be no peace here), and the filly’s raw gaze slipped from the strange, horned face of the other, back to those warm golden pools that had nursed her from infancy. A gruesome labyrinth of swollen blood-vessels coloured them, confused that honeyed glow, and across each was a glass film, a barrier into which she could not let herself be taken. “Ma…” she wept heavily, curling her small crest to lie across the mare’s strained expression. Zahra… came the call, though weak and wind-whipped it was, and the tiny face of the girl lifted so that she might gaze ever down upon the face she loved beyond all else. “Ma, home time…” she insisted, but her mother’s chin lifted, dear don’t cry. Tears spewed from an untapped reservoir, the child far too young to tether such emotion.
She leaned heavily upon that glazed wall between them, until finally it collapsed and down into her mother’s weathered gaze she plunged – it was curious, there seemed to be no end. Zahra could not feel the new wealth of information being lathered through her mind, though a phenomenal weight did settle through her core, and the filly grew evermore weary as she watched. It was only when the cold tone of another fell across them that she came too, and the face above set panic her heart’s thundering beat into a frenzied panic. Though she had never seen the duel-coloured beast before, the history of his crimes came barrelling to the forefront of her mind like the terrible events had played out only yesterday.
“Go away!” she shrieked, voice fraying as it her lungs could hurl no more breath behind it. There was a new conviction within her, a burning hatred that had not been there before, and the puny creature’s glossy white teeth snapped with aggressiveness beyond natural habit of one so young and pristine. She trembled ferociously where she lay, but the stallion was already upon them, descending like the wrath of a tornado – unflinching and vile. His hot, revolting breath cascaded down across them and anger was quickly displaced by suffocating fear. The foal, though burdened by that weight of her mother’s own, was still a babe, held fast by the vice of her instinct. Her courage unravelled quickly as his skin lowered to her mother’s sullied cheek, and between a fretful glance by the golden stag, Zahra’s knees pulled out from beneath the dead weight of the mare.
“Help! Help!” she began to squeal again, dancing between moral resolve and the mounting desire to flee this awful scene.
“Please mista!” she begged, turning, fumbling to place distance between she and the horrid monster. But her name rang out boldly through the wind-ravaged region and the foal halted abruptly, stunned by the unexpectedness of her return. “Ma…” she whispered, overwhelmed by confusion and her ultimate powerlessness in all of this mess. She wanted so desperately to drink, to indulge the savage sting of her gut with that intoxicating goodness of her mother’s honey-sweet milk; collapse into a full-bellied coma and sleep beneath the shade of the standing mare until her father’s smooth baritone words lulled her from sleep. From the pits of despair however came memory of his death – the charred body draped above a wheeled-platform – and she turned, stunned, disturbed and fell again beneath the spell of Africa’s dying eyes.
Tortured thoughts began to lift all at once, as did the lead imbedding her soul, and her eyes seemed to numb as the mare’s eyes ripped from her own.
The stench of fear was ripe all about her, as was the taste of sweat and filth upon the air. The filly’s stomach knotted within her, and her fine, tapered nose pinched at the small crowd just nearby. A mare lay beneath another, a giant in comparison, and just beyond was another stallion similarly strewn across the wet earth. Though peculiar the scene was, and inquisitive her mind, there was a foreboding chord in her pulse that warned her to venture no nearer. Her sister stood between her forelegs, snarling like never Zarha had seen before, and as her lips lowered tenderly to caress the tiny creature, Bird leapt forward and away towards the gathering.
Though the memories of the foal had been so graciously spared, those belonging to the puppy remained – they would haunt her on, perhaps forever more. She made haste through the churned snow, lips drawn and sharp milk teeth gliding beneath the ghost of her roving tongue. In her eyes was set the worn leather bag about the mare’s fallen body, the buckle had slipped apart as the horse who owned had thrashed. Zahra had often spoken of the treasures stored within – the times she had been trusted with its care, to fill it and return with favoured bounty. Bird could not understand her sisters bizarre change of heart, but she could feel the stress withered away; the agony diminishing from her own mind just as it had the filly’s. There was little she could do to salvage the dying mare, but the bag, snatched quickly between her teeth.
With every inch of her being she shook, and the old leather came free.
Relief poured through her veins and she turned too quickly, stumbling across her own mud-stained limbs in hasty effort to escape. From the satchel scattered two amulets across the ground, but Bird had not the time to retrieve them. She leapt and bounded towards her sister who in turn had swivelled to flee also. Undoubtedly Zahra would not understand the kitsune’s brazen effort, but one day perhaps, memory of this day would return and with it, a longing for such prized possessions. Together filly and fox departed through the snow, not for one second looking back – because the strange meeting which the trio held, was far beyond the foal’s fleeting interest.
Bird has claimed Africa’s satchel, but from it fell two spark amulets as she ran away. One each for Thranduil and Crash Course.
But words invaded her sanctuary, inevitably (there was to be no peace here), and the filly’s raw gaze slipped from the strange, horned face of the other, back to those warm golden pools that had nursed her from infancy. A gruesome labyrinth of swollen blood-vessels coloured them, confused that honeyed glow, and across each was a glass film, a barrier into which she could not let herself be taken. “Ma…” she wept heavily, curling her small crest to lie across the mare’s strained expression. Zahra… came the call, though weak and wind-whipped it was, and the tiny face of the girl lifted so that she might gaze ever down upon the face she loved beyond all else. “Ma, home time…” she insisted, but her mother’s chin lifted, dear don’t cry. Tears spewed from an untapped reservoir, the child far too young to tether such emotion.
She leaned heavily upon that glazed wall between them, until finally it collapsed and down into her mother’s weathered gaze she plunged – it was curious, there seemed to be no end. Zahra could not feel the new wealth of information being lathered through her mind, though a phenomenal weight did settle through her core, and the filly grew evermore weary as she watched. It was only when the cold tone of another fell across them that she came too, and the face above set panic her heart’s thundering beat into a frenzied panic. Though she had never seen the duel-coloured beast before, the history of his crimes came barrelling to the forefront of her mind like the terrible events had played out only yesterday.
“Go away!” she shrieked, voice fraying as it her lungs could hurl no more breath behind it. There was a new conviction within her, a burning hatred that had not been there before, and the puny creature’s glossy white teeth snapped with aggressiveness beyond natural habit of one so young and pristine. She trembled ferociously where she lay, but the stallion was already upon them, descending like the wrath of a tornado – unflinching and vile. His hot, revolting breath cascaded down across them and anger was quickly displaced by suffocating fear. The foal, though burdened by that weight of her mother’s own, was still a babe, held fast by the vice of her instinct. Her courage unravelled quickly as his skin lowered to her mother’s sullied cheek, and between a fretful glance by the golden stag, Zahra’s knees pulled out from beneath the dead weight of the mare.
“Help! Help!” she began to squeal again, dancing between moral resolve and the mounting desire to flee this awful scene.
“Please mista!” she begged, turning, fumbling to place distance between she and the horrid monster. But her name rang out boldly through the wind-ravaged region and the foal halted abruptly, stunned by the unexpectedness of her return. “Ma…” she whispered, overwhelmed by confusion and her ultimate powerlessness in all of this mess. She wanted so desperately to drink, to indulge the savage sting of her gut with that intoxicating goodness of her mother’s honey-sweet milk; collapse into a full-bellied coma and sleep beneath the shade of the standing mare until her father’s smooth baritone words lulled her from sleep. From the pits of despair however came memory of his death – the charred body draped above a wheeled-platform – and she turned, stunned, disturbed and fell again beneath the spell of Africa’s dying eyes.
Tortured thoughts began to lift all at once, as did the lead imbedding her soul, and her eyes seemed to numb as the mare’s eyes ripped from her own.
The stench of fear was ripe all about her, as was the taste of sweat and filth upon the air. The filly’s stomach knotted within her, and her fine, tapered nose pinched at the small crowd just nearby. A mare lay beneath another, a giant in comparison, and just beyond was another stallion similarly strewn across the wet earth. Though peculiar the scene was, and inquisitive her mind, there was a foreboding chord in her pulse that warned her to venture no nearer. Her sister stood between her forelegs, snarling like never Zarha had seen before, and as her lips lowered tenderly to caress the tiny creature, Bird leapt forward and away towards the gathering.
Though the memories of the foal had been so graciously spared, those belonging to the puppy remained – they would haunt her on, perhaps forever more. She made haste through the churned snow, lips drawn and sharp milk teeth gliding beneath the ghost of her roving tongue. In her eyes was set the worn leather bag about the mare’s fallen body, the buckle had slipped apart as the horse who owned had thrashed. Zahra had often spoken of the treasures stored within – the times she had been trusted with its care, to fill it and return with favoured bounty. Bird could not understand her sisters bizarre change of heart, but she could feel the stress withered away; the agony diminishing from her own mind just as it had the filly’s. There was little she could do to salvage the dying mare, but the bag, snatched quickly between her teeth.
With every inch of her being she shook, and the old leather came free.
Relief poured through her veins and she turned too quickly, stumbling across her own mud-stained limbs in hasty effort to escape. From the satchel scattered two amulets across the ground, but Bird had not the time to retrieve them. She leapt and bounded towards her sister who in turn had swivelled to flee also. Undoubtedly Zahra would not understand the kitsune’s brazen effort, but one day perhaps, memory of this day would return and with it, a longing for such prized possessions. Together filly and fox departed through the snow, not for one second looking back – because the strange meeting which the trio held, was far beyond the foal’s fleeting interest.
Bird has claimed Africa’s satchel, but from it fell two spark amulets as she ran away. One each for Thranduil and Crash Course.
Thranduil then @[Crash Course]
