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standing on my broken throne
crying out for what was done
crying out for what was done
Of course the larger horse was going to be faster, but somewhere she had underestimated just how difficult it would be to actively keep pace with the mare. Bathsheba struggled, ashamedly so, after the long steps of her mother. Sialia was fast, and although she slowed her gait every now and again, it just was not enough for the little filly. Sheba wanted to crumble under the humiliation, bearing heavily on bony shoulders as he shifted her weight up the slope. Steeper and steeper it grew, tight lips puffed hard breaths as the dark woman suddenly disappeared. The filly groaned as she too breached the cusp of their climb, coming to a complete stop in a desperate search for air. "I am useless aren't I?" soft muttering for only her to hear, it took many minutes before she felt able to continue. At that point Sialia had since stopped at a rocky bend, waiting patiently.
It was not easy this life of hers, as short as it had been so far. In the months since being born the initial terror of the outside world had grown into an equally powerful fear of herself. Confusion translated into shame and helplessness under the scrutiny of any and all that set eyes on her. It was commonplace for the filly to hide from those wandering eyes, taking the time to avoid contact with others and even more so the emotional conflict it provided. Although Sialia never once made any hint toward being disappointed to her face, Bathsheba had firmly convinced her young mind that she was. Why else would the mare leave her so often? Stuffing her away into any safe-haven she could find, only to return hours later. This was the majority of her life and it was hard not to think that in this way, her mother proved her own shame.
Sialia whickered and the patchwork filly came upon a most unusual sight. Water, hot water! Softly boiling water affixed in a small corner of the rock face, but it was not alone, there were many more. So many that - "What is this?" her lips pulled back in surprise the mare beckoned her forth, into it? Into the water? But would she not get burned? The filly could feel the heat radiating from the rippling surface. "It is hot mother!" She insisted gently. Yet there was Sialia, slipping her own weary limbs into the warm salts, not a bit bothered by the temperature.
@Sialia
It was not easy this life of hers, as short as it had been so far. In the months since being born the initial terror of the outside world had grown into an equally powerful fear of herself. Confusion translated into shame and helplessness under the scrutiny of any and all that set eyes on her. It was commonplace for the filly to hide from those wandering eyes, taking the time to avoid contact with others and even more so the emotional conflict it provided. Although Sialia never once made any hint toward being disappointed to her face, Bathsheba had firmly convinced her young mind that she was. Why else would the mare leave her so often? Stuffing her away into any safe-haven she could find, only to return hours later. This was the majority of her life and it was hard not to think that in this way, her mother proved her own shame.
Sialia whickered and the patchwork filly came upon a most unusual sight. Water, hot water! Softly boiling water affixed in a small corner of the rock face, but it was not alone, there were many more. So many that - "What is this?" her lips pulled back in surprise the mare beckoned her forth, into it? Into the water? But would she not get burned? The filly could feel the heat radiating from the rippling surface. "It is hot mother!" She insisted gently. Yet there was Sialia, slipping her own weary limbs into the warm salts, not a bit bothered by the temperature.
@Sialia
