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02-03-2016, 10:08 PM
Zahra, Ilham, and Hanna
It was pride that turned angels into devils
Despite the fresh start they’d been given, the chance to be part of a family, Zahra could not shift the burden from her heart – the weight of the past from her mind. The nightmares, the constant reminder of loss and loneliness, the twisted visions which haunted every moment of sleep – the yearling grew ever wearier as the legacy of her parents lived on in her. There was no doubt that the girl missed them and craved (as any child should) the affection of true family, nurturing, but as the seasons turned she began to want more, to be more; without the shadow of past transgressions marring the future. There was ugliness in the nightmares which harried her existence, and the golden-bellied girl wanted truly no part in their grim story – at least not until she could comprehend the meaning.
Zahra wanted a life of her own.
As the pale grace of dawn fell down across the Basin, the sisters slipped quietly by the old rusty sentinels that stood on by the border. Yellow eyes passed a wary glance across the strange statues and the filly skirted generously around them, stride hastening only briefly; their peculiar presence was unnerving, no matter how ruined they seemed to be. A heavy sigh was purged from her lungs and it slipped from broad nostrils as pluming steam. It was not the first time they had explored the vast, snowy steppe in recent weeks and though still the chill in the air seemed to penetrate into the depths of her core, Zahra was learning to enjoy the openness (in comparison to the well-walled valley now called home); so too the curious ice structures just to the south where, unbeknownst to her, the bones of her own mother lay buried and bleached. Still, the adventure they now embarked on was not through the bitter north, and with the wintry wind urging them forward, they began the long trek towards the flaming heart of Helovia.
After nearly a week, with much time spent resting, they found themselves at last treading tentative steps upon the parched, red earth above the caves. Clay-dust rose in whirling flurries as hoof and paw grazed its baked, cracked surface, and the coloured faces of untouchable gemstones winked and glinted in the smoky-red sunlight. For a moment Zahra paused, stalled for the second time by the bright nag of uncertainty. The little kitsune beneath leaned snug against her foreleg and whimpered softly, tenderly, for the decision to be made had grown no lighter. “I…” the yearling choked, tears again glazing the fragility of her stare. “How could I even think about destroying them…” she whispered a small time later, scorning her brazen disrespect for those she would always love so much.
Quivering lips lowered to brush the ratty leather bag in disrepair, which had carried her mother’s favourite treasures for many years, and the clever spear beneath its frayed flap that must have served her father well in battle. There was too, the marvellously heavy collar which her puny shoulders had carried since she was merely months old; she had not the heart to bring it to glory, nor the strength to bear its full dress before foes. It would suit none better than her father – and that was the truth. Unhappily, Zahra let her knees buckle there before the dancing flames, despair contorting her young expression into something far fouler than ever it had been. “I don’t know what to do!” she sobbed desperately afterwards, as Ilham slipped from her cocoon and Hanna nestled down against the bony cradle of black and white; neither had power enough to rid their sister of pain, but each felt the sting of thought as the filly began to drown in the grim tides of her pitiful future.
Zahra wanted a life of her own.
As the pale grace of dawn fell down across the Basin, the sisters slipped quietly by the old rusty sentinels that stood on by the border. Yellow eyes passed a wary glance across the strange statues and the filly skirted generously around them, stride hastening only briefly; their peculiar presence was unnerving, no matter how ruined they seemed to be. A heavy sigh was purged from her lungs and it slipped from broad nostrils as pluming steam. It was not the first time they had explored the vast, snowy steppe in recent weeks and though still the chill in the air seemed to penetrate into the depths of her core, Zahra was learning to enjoy the openness (in comparison to the well-walled valley now called home); so too the curious ice structures just to the south where, unbeknownst to her, the bones of her own mother lay buried and bleached. Still, the adventure they now embarked on was not through the bitter north, and with the wintry wind urging them forward, they began the long trek towards the flaming heart of Helovia.
After nearly a week, with much time spent resting, they found themselves at last treading tentative steps upon the parched, red earth above the caves. Clay-dust rose in whirling flurries as hoof and paw grazed its baked, cracked surface, and the coloured faces of untouchable gemstones winked and glinted in the smoky-red sunlight. For a moment Zahra paused, stalled for the second time by the bright nag of uncertainty. The little kitsune beneath leaned snug against her foreleg and whimpered softly, tenderly, for the decision to be made had grown no lighter. “I…” the yearling choked, tears again glazing the fragility of her stare. “How could I even think about destroying them…” she whispered a small time later, scorning her brazen disrespect for those she would always love so much.
Quivering lips lowered to brush the ratty leather bag in disrepair, which had carried her mother’s favourite treasures for many years, and the clever spear beneath its frayed flap that must have served her father well in battle. There was too, the marvellously heavy collar which her puny shoulders had carried since she was merely months old; she had not the heart to bring it to glory, nor the strength to bear its full dress before foes. It would suit none better than her father – and that was the truth. Unhappily, Zahra let her knees buckle there before the dancing flames, despair contorting her young expression into something far fouler than ever it had been. “I don’t know what to do!” she sobbed desperately afterwards, as Ilham slipped from her cocoon and Hanna nestled down against the bony cradle of black and white; neither had power enough to rid their sister of pain, but each felt the sting of thought as the filly began to drown in the grim tides of her pitiful future.
@Zèklè
Please only tag Zahra in openers and spars
