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05-03-2016, 01:51 PM
The water ran.
Early spring sunlight streamed through a break in the trees, the rays of light playing over the ripples in the little stream. The reflections it showed of the world were broken and distorted, where they existed at all. Tiny fish flashed silver in the current and the rocks beneath were the many colors of rich earth.
Why is it so cold!?
The white stallion snorted and sprang back from the water, pale rosey nostrils flaring wide. He shook his head, the frost-melt water still cool in his throat. It was only recently that he had begun to become familiar with these bodies of water. They weren't the still, sometimes cool pools that had watered him in the desert, the sand turned to mud around the edges by the hooves of many horses. Those were kind pools, pleasant respites from the desert's heat. This was different.
This water moved.
This water bit.
This water lived.
Even the air here was wet. He could feel it sticking in his throat and lungs. He was half-drowned with ever breath. And the air was cool, winter in his home but now he knew how cold winters could be. He had never known winters so cold. Winters where everything was still and dead. Only this past winter had he seen it with his own eyes.
With a delicateness that was oddly appropriate despite his height, the spindly stallion stepped over the narrow stream. He took great care, swinging his long neck around in a sharp crescent to watch the exaggerated lift of each leg. Once satisfied that the danger was passed, he let his head come back around to the front, long ears swinging up to face forward at attention. He picked up an easy trot, swift and smooth. He wasn't going anywhere in particular. He didn't even know where he was. He had set himself a path though, meandering and wandering as it had been. Until something changed-
until he found the seat of the gods-
there was no reason to stop. No reason to slow. The game trail he followed soon broke out into a broader path and Seanan turned to follow it, swing his bony frame along. His gossamer tail flicked, just barely long enough to reach around his hip. His head was low, eyes half closed. Only his ears betrayed his alertness, at odds with the sleepy disinterest the rest of him displayed.
Early spring sunlight streamed through a break in the trees, the rays of light playing over the ripples in the little stream. The reflections it showed of the world were broken and distorted, where they existed at all. Tiny fish flashed silver in the current and the rocks beneath were the many colors of rich earth.
Why is it so cold!?
The white stallion snorted and sprang back from the water, pale rosey nostrils flaring wide. He shook his head, the frost-melt water still cool in his throat. It was only recently that he had begun to become familiar with these bodies of water. They weren't the still, sometimes cool pools that had watered him in the desert, the sand turned to mud around the edges by the hooves of many horses. Those were kind pools, pleasant respites from the desert's heat. This was different.
This water moved.
This water bit.
This water lived.
Even the air here was wet. He could feel it sticking in his throat and lungs. He was half-drowned with ever breath. And the air was cool, winter in his home but now he knew how cold winters could be. He had never known winters so cold. Winters where everything was still and dead. Only this past winter had he seen it with his own eyes.
With a delicateness that was oddly appropriate despite his height, the spindly stallion stepped over the narrow stream. He took great care, swinging his long neck around in a sharp crescent to watch the exaggerated lift of each leg. Once satisfied that the danger was passed, he let his head come back around to the front, long ears swinging up to face forward at attention. He picked up an easy trot, swift and smooth. He wasn't going anywhere in particular. He didn't even know where he was. He had set himself a path though, meandering and wandering as it had been. Until something changed-
until he found the seat of the gods-
there was no reason to stop. No reason to slow. The game trail he followed soon broke out into a broader path and Seanan turned to follow it, swing his bony frame along. His gossamer tail flicked, just barely long enough to reach around his hip. His head was low, eyes half closed. Only his ears betrayed his alertness, at odds with the sleepy disinterest the rest of him displayed.
