Fumes curled around her, smelling faintly like toxic while on the battlefield the sound of explosions resounded in her ears. Out of mere reflex she turned her head around to look, regretted it, and saw through the flames how the tar that splashed around burned the fighters and bystanders and how the mighty paw of the God smashed at those around her. From the distance that she watched the terrors and chaos she saw a white puff being thrown around and she could only wish that wasn’t Ërthe, while above the tiger her Sultan’s mighty wings blazed against the smoky sky with even more flames.
There was too much fire and she could not believe no one would be burned alive this fight, so she shot out a prayer for her God, maybe to let His fires burn less violently today and more comforting, perhaps, like He had been to her. Please, she begged.
She turned her eyes away as she set out to wander around outside the imaginary border that marked the battlefield. But she could still hear the voices, still hear the screams; even from here. Thus her face showed concern, her throat showed swallowing more than normal —and her heartbeat felt like breaking away from her chest. Why did it have to look like a tiger? The difference was, as she strayed around, searching for (perhaps) wounded fighters in need of her assistance (maybe with dying, she thought) —unlike before, she was not on the battlefield and she felt the pressure of caring more now that she was useless and pitying herself, but also confused and hurt.
...And she felt like a child again that lost her way in the forest for the first time.
As she wandered through the mist that naturally spun itself around the place, as restless as she was, she was getting more used to these surroundings and felt at ease within its greenery and mystical atmosphere. On the other hand; that was no surprise, as she liked the mist and the mist seemed to like her.
It was then that she spotted a dark bay figure appearing out of the dark smog from the battlefield. He seemed okay from a distance, but she wandered over to him nonetheless, for he must have fled for a reason (which she wanted to know). Then, somehow, he managed to trip or something and Maren blinked at the sudden change of movement. Perhaps he isn’t as okay as he looks, she wondered and she decided to hurry her steps, after all. “Are you alright?” She asked, not in a comforting way, but neither cold. For she did not know him. However, after a quick glance over his strangely striped coat, a familiar candle lit up in her mind, one that hadn’t been on for a long, long time. Perhaps a few years, even. And so she muttered it along with a breath first, before she would scream it into his ear as she would become sure of it. “Beest? Beest, it is you! Why,” She sighed, but then laughed for some reason; a reason that might just be the finding of sudden comfort in an old friendship. One she had once thought unlikely to reappear.
“This is such bad timing,” she smiled, and she shook her head, because memories started to drip like water dripping from leaves on the ground and she wondered why they couldn’t just have met at the border instead of in this chaos. So she took in a breath, eyes crowning themselves with a frown as her tone became serious again. She wanted to ask so much, and yet there didn’t seem to be any space for it right now —And she remembered her pain, because comfort was only just that; comfort.
Maren's eyes were cold and shimmery under the large-leaved canopy of the tropical forest. “Is this even your fight?” She asked in a doubting kind of way.
And she wanted to tell him he shouldn’t be here, that it was dangerous. That she could protect herself now; that now.. now she was a grown-up mare. That she had magic to hide herself in, so he shouldn’t worry. So he should go, back to the Savannah, for she was afraid their realm was breaking apart slowly, anyway. And she wanted to huddle closer to him, because she was afraid and somewhere in the back of her mind he was still that brave colt that protected her then, so why not now?
—Please, the child in her begged, once again.
...Because I wouldn't let you, anyway.
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SWP :: Blunt Little Instruments (Part II)
