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Contaminated glances and misdirected tensions cast spiderwebs of crisscrossed emotion to weep blood and morning dew into the midst of our marbled gathering. There is a lack of kindness that is infectious, a centralization upon the only male of our midst causing skin to crawl and breath to waver. One, two, three, four; we are mares bound only by friendship with this stag, some ill-begat affection or vain vision of importance in his eyes. We surround him, oozing pestilence of hormones and emotion. We watch, we follow, we bicker and smirk. It is a wonder he has not drowned in the weight of our heavy gazes and cloudy thoughts, that he does not flee us and the demons of our gender as we gather around and engage each other in a battle of fluorescent tonality and wicked stares.
I have never been the greatest fan of my own sex. So as the mares glance and glare, I respond with more intrigue than hostility, following the tension and trying to decipher its purpose. My entrance, it would appear, is marked with more disgust than interest- why? The crass scowl of one, the subtle glower of another, and the innocuous filly who tries to bridge gaps left by silence that stretch between her elders. She speaks in gentle tones, and Lace answers with just as staunch an attempt at airiness; and we, the mares, are still.
Lace's words lead me closer to the hoard, his tired strides inviting me to enter into their little circle of unfamiliarity. I hear his words and take his weight, a faint smile playing with the lines of my mouth and the corners of my eye. His gentle nature is contagious and soothing, and it is impossible to remain stoic as he boldly presses for some peaceful reconciliation of opposing factions. "They say that genius is more perspiration than inspiration, you know," I murmur, adding- "You're going to have to sweat a lot more, but this is a good start." Wry humor softens the dark tones, lyrical accents projected to the collective of mares and the stallion alike. Starry limbs shift as I adjust to the weight of the stallion, gold-tipped forelock pressing irritably against the black of my eyes. I shake my head and snort.
The first to arrive is the first to leave, the giantess looking uncomfortable and hurt as she turns tail and ambles away to her own sunset. Had the tired weight of Lace not been pressed against my side I might have followed, to question the motives behind these bizarre actions, her five minute visit cut short by company. Her interest seemed to lay in Lace alone, for she looked upon me with something akin to loathing, I think, or perhaps just mournful fear. Why, I do not know. But I will never understand the subtleties of mares; but we know this already. I watch her depart, and am left unsatisfied, confused, and ultimately, indifferent.
Now there are four, and I settle back to watch and listen, hopeful that the departure of the one who does not belong will strengthen the unity of we who do. the voices of Lace and Kiara continue to fly out and puncture the bright rise of morning, forced cheer and cautious tones rich with youth and goodwill. They discuss magic, and as they do I find my attention drifting to the one I have yet to hear speak, sensual unicorn of dim blue and proud stance. She stands tall, she carries herself well; I wonder what gives her this authority, then laugh to myself as I recall- youth. Beauty. The feeling that the world is yours, if only you can claim it. I remember that wonder, that joy, but it has been a long time since I looked upon the world as a trove of treasure awaiting my bold step.
I catch her eye, and in the briefest of seconds I can see her with startling clarity and painful truth. Malice, malevolence, hate. A blink; darkness; and it is gone, and I am left wondering why, why had she fixed me with so vengeful a look, when I had done nothing, expressed nothing, shown nothing? Why must mares judge and loathe without any knowledge but what we see? Is all this truly just a shallow act of vying for my friend the Glazier's attention?
Is he even my friend? Now, here, surrounded by mares, Lace suddenly seems foreign to me. What has he done to incense such emotion from these two different mares, to provoke them from their feminine slumber into chaos and coy? How has he toyed, their hearts on a string, playing them with his gentle charm and quiet manners so that they turned on each other like cats in heat? Tension; I grow tense, and I wonder if he can feel it. I should not have come here.
"I was born in a land of a magic more subtle than what Helovia boasts." There is a faint sheen of ice in my otherwise bland tones, a curious emptiness as I add my piece to our storytelling collective. "And I have seen many things since, wonders you would not believe." A pause as I reflect, reflect on a life spent rootless and wandering, a life of little meaning but much knowledge. They do not understand; they will never understand, perhaps, for they have made their roots and laid their beds. I want to say more, but something stops me, holds me back, and I leave the remainder of my thoughts unperturbed.
Behind me, Kali is swooping into the clearing, her breakfast finished. A rabbit's leg dangles lifelessly from her right talon, some sinew and fur still connected to the bloodied bone. She lands on the ground with a graceless stumble, long tail lashing at the air behind her, wings unfurled. Curiously she glances about, bright blue eyes seeking and finding the small white dragon who accompanies Lace. With an avian grin she extends the dismembered limb, chirping happily, oblivious of the tension that coats the morning air. An innocent in all this; I smile at her with fondness, tension melting away in the presence of my dear companion, the holder of my heart. Let mares glare, let Lace tease; Kali's mischief is all the company and entertainment I need.
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a glaziers pace (crafting glass, open)
