All that had happened did not hold a chapter in her mind, just the one paragraph in which she realized she couldn’t keep up if her mind were to write another one. So she let her mind go astray instead. Not because she wanted to see what would happen, but because she was just a shameful, mortal, ignorant fool of a horse, after all.
A child of the child that their premature kind was; filled with groundless logic and fart jokes.
The unknown made her feel small; the unknown made her feel trivial and unnecessary. Things she had known, now made her bones shake. More than ever she was the dust in the wind, the air on the breeze and the faint faltering heartbeat of a dying desire to watch the world either burn bright, or just… burn.
Mr. Teatime’s fluff felt soft and warm as he had thrown himself around her like a blanket. His always so unbothered purring a comfortable, warm undertow for her senses.
What was before her, around her and above her – the grass that brushed her legs, the warmth of spring that came with the breeze. They were the fingers through her mane while the rain was like kisses on her cheeks.
The drizzle had dampened the earth; its smell thick within the fog, while those same white, curling (dancing) mist cringed up under a moonlit sky. It swished within the fluffy shadows of the trees and she realized: Within the embrace of the mist it was cozy. Within the grey it was neither good or bad.
It was one of those things that just was.
Like the wind, the rain and the dust.
And now like her, too.
She felt what was, or had been, herself fold like thin, paper sheets and dissolve within the wetness of the moist air. And she wrapped herself with the cloak of a misty night.
It wasn’t Mr.Teatime’s fluff that had felt soft and warm, but her own.
She glanced at a paw, holding it in the foggy, faint light of the moon. "What... What am I –... furr?" FURR? As much as she had wanted to hit 'pause' at that moment, before she could totally realize what had happened, a sudden sound started to rumble into her pointy ears. Her unfamiliar skin grew cold and unexpectedly tight as she did the first thing that came to mind; climb up a tree. However, fairly untrained in the sacred art of being a (spoiler) cat, she failed miserably at the climbing part and, with the cushions of her paws throbbing from the attempt, she ended up simply furr wrapped up together at the base of the tree. Pretending to be a not-miserable failure of a creature, wide eyed at the center of a misty night.
Talking
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