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04-05-2017, 08:20 PM
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The child's breathing is heavy, laboured as her lungs work tirelessly for air she can't quite get. Her fragile little heart is beating weakly to pump blood, but it can't quite get it to every corner, can't reach every surface as her knees grow weak and her head spins. She thinks that perhaps she should give up for now, sink lower to the ground and let the fatigue overcome her; all of the steps she had taken to get here were crashing over her now, taking away what little energy she had left after her trip and leaving her with heavy lids and hooves.
Safiri can feel her knees beg for collapse, threatening to spill her out beneath the pine tree she rests her weight against, bark digging into the golden hide of her shoulder as she sinks further into it. Her vision is blurred, twisted and distorted as her petite heart fails her - even with such a small body it struggles to keep her brain supplied with oxygen, leaving her thoughtless and disoriented. She knows now she shouldn't have done this, she shouldn't have wandered off so far to quench the curiosity of youth, her instincts to explore should've been ignored, not pushed on. Safiri can only hope someone will find her before she falls asleep slumped against a tree, before they tell her parents. She knows they won't be mad, but she does not want to worry them with her short lived exploration, a far more costly adventure than she had been expecting. With her tired heart slowing its pace, she finally gives in to the cry of her trembling legs. The princess tumbles down, down, down, with her mouth gaping as she sucks in as much humid air as she can while she plummets - her head is twirling about her neck, lights and colours blossoming through her vision as she's left to fall apart alone; her mother would never find her here, so far from their cave, so much farther than she should have gone. Safiri is giving up gradually, letting her eyes flutter shut as she succumbs to the fatigue that eats away at her - but she has no chance to sleep as a blurry figure approaches the fair filly, barely able to raise her head off the ground to peer at the blue tipped woman. Lyanna, she says her name is. The lamb hears distant speech, garbled words droning on as she looks up at the Moon Doctor, ears catching a scramble of words her mind hastily pieces together. "How? Can you fix me?" There's a broken hopefulness that makes itself known in her soft words, sticky and sweet with childish innocence. She cannot be fixed by mortal hand, her heart is something that cannot be so easily toyed with by just anyone; as she will soon learn, with the lingering question left between them. a wind in the shadow, a whale song in the deep |
@Lyanna
