mihtal

all the world is waiting for the sun.

I’m not exactly sure how long the journey takes from the Threshold to the Throat, but it seems too soon when I find myself in the desert again.

Before I realize it, the ground is soft beneath my hooves; the packed dirt gives way to the fine grains of sand, and the lush forest trees fade into hardier and more rugged vegetation. Except to ensure that I don’t stumble embarrassingly into a sinkhole, I keep my eyes to the ground, arching my neck so that my long hair falls like a blindfold around my vision. I watch my feet as they carry me forward (moving mindlessly), and I imagine the sand swallowing my cloven toes so that I cannot move—and, perhaps, I will disappear altogether.

(Would anyone notice?)
Would I even care if they did?

I don’t bother to try and fill the silence. I’m lost in the ruin of my thoughts, trying not to drown in the plethora of wounds that are my memories. Like a spider web of self-doubt and self-destruction, it tangles every musing (every little one) into this twisted chaos, and it warps and deforms until it’s all I know. I can’t remember what it’s like to not be a freak. To not be a mess of emotions, coming apart at the seams—and I just feel like letting go.

Why am I even doing this?
Part of me is tempted to turn away from this new desert snare, because putting up a façade of normality is exhausting, and I’m not sure I can do it much longer. But I am already running from one enemy—I cannot make myself another one. So with a sigh of defeat that hitches into a silent, choking sob, I make myself continue to the ocean. Through the tendrils of my forelock I can see the island. I wade chest-deep into the briny waters, as though I could cross the miles of billowing waves that separate us, as though I wouldn’t be devoured into the depths.

But I don’t continue. Instead I anchor myself just offshore, my tired muscles quivering in a half-hearted effort to keep me from drifting off completely. Still, I am pushed to and fro by the water’s rhythm, the length of my hair fanning out over the foamy surface, the ocean spray dampening my face and hiding the tears that might have fallen. Like this I stand, silent, sure that my presence will, eventually, alert someone. I can wait.


notes; I know she's technically accepted already, but she hasn't actually been to the Throat yet, so here she is! So excited :D
“Speech.”