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06-27-2012, 12:11 PM
Their world of dreams has been shattered. The glass has spilled out with sharp ends, and scrapes against their skin to reveal the wounds and pains they must endure. Perhaps it is not much, for most creatures do not walk unhindered. However the weight is heavy and fresh… the scent of blood still plagues the young stallion’s nares with a bitter and tangy stench. One that has cracked open his mother’s peace into fits of endless nightmares, into a quieted body that no longer chases the delicate hand of nature. It is grating on him watching these things wither away from her, made agonizing by the dips of their travel and the quiet that hangs a noose around his neck; tight, coiling about him. There is no relief in every sense; the sun is unyielding and his mother’s mourning will not submit to change. No, not just yet.
As they enter into forest the sign of creatures like them is confirmed by hoof prints, traces of hair caught on bark, the smell of flesh and sweat. Ever the vigilant guardian Enapay watches and feels for the earth, her wind for signs of approach but there are none yet. It should not be long, he hopes, before they are approached for the sake of his mother, Namid. Depending on what hope has clung to her soul, and by the spirits that taunt her; she shall perish and drift from her body soon or pass through changed. He recognizes the fear curdling inside of him then, indignant of this metamorphosis. He can only do so much, and cringes inwards repulsed by the consequences of death, the sorrow of a wounded soul that has enchanted and inspired much of his colthood. This reaction has a far clearer meaning however, and an origin that he himself has not yet admitted to.
“ ‘Lo son.” Her husky words stretch out and reach him. Although behind her he can clearly recognize the voice. The silence is so strong that it pierces into his mind, and for a moment he finds himself ashamed that he is clearly becoming more detached from her by the day. “Mother?”
“The sky shall crack open soon, thunder. I am happy.” He brushes his muzzle along her belly briefly, wondering how long this happiness will consume her. Although taller, darker and lithe he continues just behind, each step hesitant and patient for her shorter strides. A careful and thin smile etches along his features. Indeed the sky is pregnant with clouds, the heat on the brink of collapsing with the shuddering wind. It will be wonderful to have the sky cry out and roar above them, and admonish the heat for just a while longer.
Their forms, one stout the other tall; continue to walk on in easy pace. They are nearly the same besides their body structures, but the pair move soundlessly with an old rhythm to their step. An old music that gives easy instinct to the flow of their bodies pressing against time, restless; at least he was, to break free of this something that has caged him since they left.
Perhaps he will find its door, or the crack to give way and break.
As they enter into forest the sign of creatures like them is confirmed by hoof prints, traces of hair caught on bark, the smell of flesh and sweat. Ever the vigilant guardian Enapay watches and feels for the earth, her wind for signs of approach but there are none yet. It should not be long, he hopes, before they are approached for the sake of his mother, Namid. Depending on what hope has clung to her soul, and by the spirits that taunt her; she shall perish and drift from her body soon or pass through changed. He recognizes the fear curdling inside of him then, indignant of this metamorphosis. He can only do so much, and cringes inwards repulsed by the consequences of death, the sorrow of a wounded soul that has enchanted and inspired much of his colthood. This reaction has a far clearer meaning however, and an origin that he himself has not yet admitted to.
“ ‘Lo son.” Her husky words stretch out and reach him. Although behind her he can clearly recognize the voice. The silence is so strong that it pierces into his mind, and for a moment he finds himself ashamed that he is clearly becoming more detached from her by the day. “Mother?”
“The sky shall crack open soon, thunder. I am happy.” He brushes his muzzle along her belly briefly, wondering how long this happiness will consume her. Although taller, darker and lithe he continues just behind, each step hesitant and patient for her shorter strides. A careful and thin smile etches along his features. Indeed the sky is pregnant with clouds, the heat on the brink of collapsing with the shuddering wind. It will be wonderful to have the sky cry out and roar above them, and admonish the heat for just a while longer.
Their forms, one stout the other tall; continue to walk on in easy pace. They are nearly the same besides their body structures, but the pair move soundlessly with an old rhythm to their step. An old music that gives easy instinct to the flow of their bodies pressing against time, restless; at least he was, to break free of this something that has caged him since they left.
Perhaps he will find its door, or the crack to give way and break.
