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05-27-2016, 07:10 PM
K itty
Kitty doesn't wait long. He's going to keep moving, because a stallion as important as he does not stand idle for the masses. He takes delicate steps forward and his legs--long and graceful--cut through the warmth until the sky goes black and the air stings cold. Everything is unfamiliar to you but he moves through this new world as if it is his by some divine right, or at least as if he's seen it before in some dream. You long to sink your fingers into that realm of his innermost knowing, to see the things he sees when the night comes, but you simply aren't made of the right stuff. Compared to Kitty, no one is.
If he weren't so damnably charming, so devastatingly perfect, you might suspect he wandered the wrong way. Here in the North Birdsong's beauty fades into bitterness and the cold is as uninviting as Kitty's red stare in the face of complication. But he doesn't have that look now, doesn't seem perturbed in the slightest. No, Kitty seems confident to the point where it's contagious, and you find yourself nodding your head slowly as you watch him press hooves into ice. He's moving through that pale and unloving wind at a pace first slow and then consciously quickened. He sees something you don't see. Isn't that always the way?
But after a moment or two you catch sight of what he already knew: a mare, deep purple and trailed by the blue offspring of fire. Does he know her name already? Has he met her before, in some past life, and failed to mention her to you? He picks up speed again until he's cantering, his silken mane flying behind him as he arcs against the wind. From far away, you watch his dorsal stripe and the line of hoofprints that he etches in the snow and note the half-moon shape of his approach. From farther you hear his voice, loud despite the distance: "Good evening, night stranger."
Same. Also, good to see you around again. :) Would you prefer to be tagged @Sielu?
(Don't tag me, just poke me on skype.)
