Яikyn

Hello, darling…

My eyes snap up, narrowed in dislike of that word, one that calls to mind my dam in her conniving beauty manipulating strangers, herd mates, myself, to her will. One ear slips back, assuaging far too quickly for sense that this young woman is a bitch of the devious sort, that I should be cautious what steps I take about her, what words I let fly.

Alongside the raising of defenses is a heightened sense of abandonment, that my mother is no where near to call me such words, to hear my tales of conquest or to tend for me now that I am genuinely ill, having been unusually healthy and of good fortune in my youth.

Yet, the eyes that I discover upon my figure are silver, not aureate, her figure azure laced with the same metallic shine as the gaze which holds me. Pretty, I think to myself, even if she is wicked and a temptress, a beguiler and mistress of deceit; perhaps all the best women are, anyway. They are the gentler of our blood, tender, and must make up for what they lack in physical strength with the tenuous strength of their wit – though this mare is lined with sinew that suggests she comes with the ability to wield the shining mythril of her blade as well as the silver of her tongue.

That she thinks her question is stupid is quite ironic (not that I can read her thoughts), because I mentally mirror almost the same statement. At least the second one isn’t so bad, turning the frown that had bloomed at her arrival into a straight line of nonchalance.

No regard is given to the matter that she managed to surprise me.

I’m not myself, as she can see, hear when I first try to speak and manage only a gruesomely wet hacking sound for several moments.

"Did you hear that?" I ask, having heard something like branches snapping in the forest some distance behind her, body craning slightly to the side so that I might peer at the grasping shadow of the wicked trees; there is no one there, yet.

Maybe the trees ate them.

I shudder.

"Maybe," I answer, remembering she had asked if she might help, "but you will get it too."

A faint hello draws my attention away from the blue woman, black glazed vision landing upon a pale damsel marked with butter cream details and a long, golden horn. So, the trees didn’t eat her, they merely poked her eyes out, as obviously we are right here – so why would she tremulously ask hello as if we were invisible?

I crane my head forward to see better, finding her eyes are still in tact – though the same black goo which leaks from my facial orifices besieges her features, as well. Fear spasms through my heart.

"Has it… has it made you blind?" I question, a knot tightening in my throat and panic threatening to overwhelm me if her answer is yes.

I don’t want to go blind at all.

in every heart a hole