|
I study him a little closer. He reminds me of someone... but not quite anyone I had really known. A chilling wind blows, the first flakes of white snow falling. I hope he will make up his mind soon, for I have no wish to be land-stuck, white banks of snow filling my world until I'm drowning... I shake off the thoughts with a twist of my silver head, thrusting them away from me. Luckily, he replies soon enough. Lovely Svetlana. Locket. His name fits him, his rusted appearance and white-streaked face, his proud air. Most horses adapt to their names, or adapt their names to them. After all, have you heard of a villian named Tequila? No. It's Lucifer or Satan or a dark name they call themselves. An intriguing concept, true nonetheless.
At his questioning of where I live, my mind immediately flits to the Foothills', my home and my pride as well as joy. The beauty of the blue mountains, their flanks sturdy against the tug of the clouds and the roar of the wind. The frozen stream and the pools it makes, the trees dappling the rolling hills that seem to flow in waves forever. The thermals that lift and give my wings a break, the downdrafts that spend me spiralling down, down, down, towards the bone-breaking earth. The golden eye that watches over us, or the white one that breathes out in the night, sending rays of silver washing over us.
"Well, Locket, I, or perhaps one day 'we', live in the Windtossed Foothills, to the north of here. It has a large herd, but it's a large homeland. Unless you wish to cut our throats in the night, I'm sure you'll fit in well." My voice, although sarcastic, holds a touch of a warning. Only a blind fool would allow an unknown horse into their land.
"blah blah blah."
|
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
