.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
09-24-2015, 05:44 PM
Freya
We All Want Something Beautiful.
We All Want Something Beautiful.
The filly pressed on. She slowly made her way through the mud and muck, the larger drifts still melting away. She wandered, making her way in wide circles as she ambled through the Threshold. All the smells were new here, and she didn’t have the knowledge to place them. Her mother had never taught her of the world. She had never taught the filly that the world was dangerous and cruel and waiting to steal life away from those who were unable to adapt. Her mother had always hoped that there would one day be an accident. An accident that snuffed the light from the tiny curse and spared her from having to snuff the light herself. But an accident never came. The little pegasus always came home, never faltered to storms or hunting predators. A curse with her very own blessing.
A new smell tucked itself into a small black nose. She wiggled her snout, learning it, trying to place it. She diverted her path, looking for the other living creature that wandered close. Maybe a friend? Maybe it could help find mother. Long black-dipped legs carried her gracelessly over the thawing earth. Soon she came upon the owner of the scent. Seeing the white bear made her jump, and she scrambled backwards to hide behind a large stump. Her heart fluttered like a scared bird trapped in the cage of her ribs. Her instincts prompted her to run in the other direction, but her fear planted her solidly in her spot.
A voice called out. To her? Maybe. It was not mother. It was not a voice she recognized. But it was kind. It was soft and gentle and tender, which was nearly foreign to the young babe. Her heart still fluttered, but she felt her nerves settle, and she was able to move tiny hooves forward. Peeking from around her tree, blue eyes fell upon a dark mare. Beside her stood the polar bear. The lack of fear from the stranger calmed her further, and she crept out from behind the trunk. She shifted her weight back and forth nervously. An old mare gave her warning once, to avoid strangers. The grey filly did not know why, but held on to all of the small pieces of advice given to her. When the mare introduced herself, gave Freya her and her companion’s names, were they still strangers?
She avoided eye contact, small tri-colored wings clapping against her sides nervously. “I am called Freya,” She mumbled. Father always told her to not be seen nor heard. She was not used to being spoken to. “Your friend was scary. I’ve never seen one of those before. But now that I’ve met him, maybe he will be a friend? Maybe less scary.” She trembled, nearly vibrated, with fear and nerves. She was painfully shy, afraid to speak to anyone who wasn’t mother or the old elder who would hold her close and tell her stories when father wasn’t looking.
The equine’s next words were like a punch in the gut. Fear burst through the small girl. “But, but mother said we would play a game!” Tears rushed to her eyes, not understanding that her mother was never coming back. “Mother said I hide, and she will find me! Maybe I broke a rule, she hates when I break rules. Maybe she is punishing me for not following a rule!” Her nose scrunched as she tried desperately not to cry. “Maybe your friend’s nose is broken today. Maybe he is wrong.”
The weight of the world seemed to lean itself onto her. Small thoughts, thoughts swelling with color and emotion and memories and everything she had to her name, swarmed her mind. But how could she possibly comprehend the burden her parents carried her as? She was gone, and they were finally happy. She felt nauseous, her stomach pained with hunger and sadness and fear. She slowly approached Lakota, eyes glancing from the mare to the ground, back and forth. She made sure to stay far from the bear. She stopped a short way before the Poisoner. “Maybe mother is still looking. Maybe you can bring me to her. I want my mother.” Her voice was quivering. She cast her eyes up finally, finding violet. “I don’t want to be alone.” The mare was a stranger. And strangers were bad. Maybe strangers lied.
You’ve done well, my Queen. Do not fear, for no blood is on your hooves or soul. She was not your child, she was a cancer that needed to be purged. You have returned to us victorious. You rid us of our sins. The obscenity is gone, and we are saved.
Speech
OOC// Goodness, it’s about time!
Tagged// @Lakota
