Zahra, Ilham, and Hanna

It was pride that turned angels into devils

There had been a time once, very long ago, when Zahra had not faced such a lonely, uncertain future. Beneath the obscure blanket of fog in her mind, moving memories of a tender mother’s caress and similarly a father’s sheltering embrace, warmed her soul – fed her confidence enough to continue without true respect for her situation. The fact that she had not been altogether abandoned in this wild land, that the circumstances surrounding were both beautifully poetic, was indeed a comfort she clung tightly too. The claws of isolation were indeed sharp, penetrating, and their grip upon the filly’s soul was worryingly steadfast, but so too seemed to drape around her shoulders the protective arms of an unseen guardian. By this grace thus far, it seemed she had avoided much of the world’s strife.

The foal’s golden eyes glittered with childish hope, anticipation; both entirely undistracted by the uncomfortable expression engulfing the older horse’s fine, bronze-framed features. It never occurred to her that he might be on route for private business of his own, Zahra saw only the need of her own – and that of small Bird, who’s warmth radiated on against her leg.

As the freezing wetness set in around them, the stench of the rotting forest began to grow; the murk crept ever nearer, and shadows seemed to dance beyond reach of her gaze. It was a wilderness, wild and wonderful, but all the same it was terrifyingly unpredictable. The tiny Pegasus trembled and shook as the chill of the cooling season enveloped her uninsulated form, and as she dared that step nearer to the stranger, she could feel the aura of heat surrounding him, like a halo of glorious sunlight. Too quickly was her thin black and white pelt soaked through; frozen fractals melted instantly, the moment they found her meagre span. But the stallion needed little time to meditate it seemed, and quickly he revealed his name to her.

Camon… she repeated in thought, perhaps for the sake of the puppy who whined softly as the whistling wind harried their voices.

Zahra recognised nothing of the other’s evident strain, stress or disquiet as his instruction followed the first of his few noises quickly, and the girl stumbled forward across rickety, weak knees. With hunched shoulders and a sway neck she trudged along near his thigh, careful to match his long-legged (super-slow) stride all in spite of her growing fatigue. Inwardly she contemplated their destination; fantasized about a den with an uncanny semblance to the golden one often dreamt of – that which harboured the bones of her parents. She was sure their refuge-to-be would be as warm, secluded and dry; first impression told her that Camon was wise (older), and determined (quick upon his toes)… Perhaps he might even know of something tasty they could eat!

It only fed that childlike faith when his wing unfurled to shelter her from the descending torrent, and she slipped eagerly beneath, mimicking the gesture for Bird who skipped along below – Zahra’s wing was only part feathered of course, and the stallion’s vast extension served to cover both flanking sisters as it were.

The credulous filly liked him already.

He guided them along a well-worked trail, slick and waterlogged, and though tiny round hooves slipped and skidded often, her resolve was improving. Soon enough fallen litter began to build like a plush mattress beneath each step, and Bird slipped suddenly from the cover of the creature’s enormous white feathers towards the welcome appearance of skewed old timber; a naked waterfall of branches beneath which they could hide. With energy renewed by a surge of bright excitement, Zahra barrelled after the limber white kitsune. “In here Camon!” she cried out expertly, as though the shelter might have been overlooked altogether.

The willowy tree brushed about her soggy back as she paused easily within – there was plenty of room, at least for her and Bird. Flashing an eager smile, the filly waited for her newest friend to arrive.