Sabre

light the fuse

and burn it up

I’m suddenly distracted by the horrid shrieking of frightened, dying birds. Pinning my ears against the unwelcomed eruption, I cast my eyes upward, peering against the sunlight to try and make sense of that annoying sound, and what might be attacking the miserable little creatures (the very same sound I might grow to admire, one day, when lanky muscles are hardened and the fates are kind enough to gift me my own dragon). For now, however, it ignites nothing but frustration within the ignorance of my little mind. Huffing with all the drama of a teenager, I lower my head abruptly, teeth yanking at the grass. I take in each bite vigorously—roots, dirt, and all—and chew with enough force that I can hear the click of enamel with each chomp.

Somehow, I manage the catch the rustle of hoof beats despite the gusto of my mastication. I pause at first, not entirely sure if I had actually heard something, or if it had only been a bird or deer or some crap roaming through the forest.

“Sabre?”

I nearly jump out of my skin when the unfamiliar deep, rumbling voice says my name (I mean come on girls, how is that not creepy?). Nevertheless, I’m not about to be intimidated so easily, like some primped-up little tart. Instead, I pin my ears flat against the back of my neck, and whip my eyes around to fix the stallion with my most aggressive scowl. Around and up, that is. This guy is monstrous—all height, hair, and bulk; had I possessed any ounce of caution weakness, I likely would’ve kicked dirt in his face right then and high-tailed it for the smallest little nook I could fit in.

But that’s just not me.
I don’t run.

(Unless I’m charging at something, obviously, but that’s an entirely different point.)

Clenching my jaw together to keep my teeth from shaking, I turn the rest of my body around to meet him, golden eyes hardly wavering from his face. Pointedly I stare before answering, exhaling a long breath from my nostrils. “So what if I am?” I counter, eyes narrowing. I try to take advantage of the element of surprise next (not a strong point of mine, admittedly) and call upon the magic that pulses through my veins. Reaching deep into myself—deep, deep, through my hooves and into the earth—I summon that gift of the gods, and muster a number of thorny vines to lurch from the soil, and towards the stranger.

My intention is to create a sort of blockade between us, for the vines to hover just inches from his skin (scare tactic, y’know?)—but, that’s isn’t quite what happens. I had only just discovered my magic days after leaving Helovia, so I haven’t exactly ‘mastered’ it yet. Instead—

—half of the vines seem to tangle with one another, churning and growing and twisting, until they’re little more than a stupid tumbleweed. Lotta good that does me! My scowl droops a little as I curse at myself, brows knitting together with exasperation, but I don’t let that embarrassment get the better of me. Using the couple of vines that actually did what they were supposed to, I wave them threateningly at the stallion, and try not to completely lose it at the pathetic wiggling of the tumbleweed mass. “What’s it to you?” My voice is a growl pushed through bared teeth, clinging to whatever is left of my bruised pride.


“Speech.”