Zahra, Ilham, and Hanna

It was pride that turned angels into devils

“Bird, shhhh!”

Zahra’s shrill, young voice chimed above the dull groan of snow-laden boughs and billowing, whispering wind – she seemed entirely oblivious to the irony of her giggly request. “He’ll hear you… he’ll find us!” she called again brightly beneath blanketing grey skies, springing between bulging mangrove roots – with far better adeptness than she had possessed when their touring, unlikely family had fist set foot upon this grove. The point of the game was to not be found by their brother, to evade his search for as long as they could. Golden, glittering eyes searched through the grove eagerly, intent on finding a brilliant hiding place to better their chance.

Around her shoulders, the weight of her father’s silver collar rocked and bounced awkwardly; shifting, threatening always to skew her fleet-feet and balance off course, but the item was a presence by then which she had become quite accustomed to (on the coldest of nights, she imagined fondly that the warmth radiating beneath it, was actually that of the beloved stallion who had once dwelled beneath its sturdy embrace). So too did the gleaming gold feathers clink together in her short, flapping mane as they danced to each jolting movement the frail filly made – though unmaterialistic in nature, she was well decorated in priceless articles, each with their own story to tell. Zahra remembered them all… mostly.

The tiny filly’s fore-hoof slipped suddenly upon a thin film of green-white lichen; it concealed a fractured old root that had long since ceased its aid to the sprawling tree above, and this wood cracked further beneath even her miniscule weight and gave way. Wings naturally unfurled in a hasty, flurry of black and white splayed feathers – a desperate bid to avoid the mud as it lurched upwards to claim her. Zahra was surefooted however, far too nimble upon her toes and with each blessed arm spilling out sideways, she gathered immaculately her hind legs beneath and launched skilfully out of her predicament.

…right into the palm of another!

Without the ability to fly (fewer than three seasons around her girth), the foal sank quickly back to earth. As she did, there was a flash of movement before her, a canine – both dark and sinister in appearance. Immediately a chorus of growling rose to her left and broadening eyes placed her snowy-coated sister paused with hackles lifting; stark green stare set upon the steel-eyed stranger with the lolling tongue. The horse in her company was yet beyond their field of vision (masked perhaps by the intricate fence of timber), and Zahra promptly recoiled, sidestepping and stumbling until she was instead beside the young kitsune’s side.

“Maybe it didn’t see us?” she whispered, glancing hesitantly around them for any landmark which might offer some familiarity – any sense of reassurance. They had certainly strayed a long distance from their brother; that aspect of the game she and Bird (and Ilham whose puny existence was cocooned in mane and web, out of sight), had become quite proficient at. It seemed, to their detriment.