|
Nestled amongst the rises and ridges of the mountain side, a dark mare grazes beneath a starry night sky, her form a near shapeless shadow as she saunters from patch to patch of tasteless tundra grass growing amongst the rock and hardened earth. Overhead the Aurora Borealis shimmers and dances in its vibrant and extravagant array of colors, casting a soft, warm glow on the otherwise frosted landscape. Larkspur raises her gaze momentarily as the wind blows at her back, sweeping in a gust funneled down the mountainside, sending her storm stricken mane into a brief mess of wild, waving locks. Golden eyes linger at the starry spectacle above her, imagining the twisting of constellations, the formation of strikingly dazzling nebulas and the collecting of stardust into the vivid, clear streaks that sparkle and glitter against the velvet black of the night sky.
Larkspur chews on the last stems of grass that hang comically out of her mouth, whiskered lips making lazy attempts to keep the stray strands of greenery from escaping her teeth, all the while imagining what it might be like to walk within reach of those shining, luminescent objects that reappear with every setting of the sun. If she touched them would it burn, sear the flesh from her bones? Or perhaps their incandescence stems from an unimaginable cold, the king that would freeze a mortal where they stood. The wind blows yet again, a gale that whistles persistently in her ears, creating a voice in her head like that of a persistent, irritable child, demanding to have its way. She contemplates returning to the shelter of the cave she has claimed from amongst the many in the mountain side, where a soft bed of moss and dead leaves would offer some reprieve against the frigid draft. But a restless obstinacy drives the cerulean unicorn to do just the opposite, and in the dead of the night she moves down the mountain side toward the valley floor. She is a wraith in the form of dark, stormy shadows against the gentle glow of the moon and star lit surroundings, a silent, practically unnoticeable figure that passes without so much as a whisper from the rustle of her hooves gliding across the ground.
For Larkspur sleep never came easy. Real sleep, the deep and most restful kind, was something unattainable. Rambling, racing synapses that never seemed to rest were a constant source of unwanted worry and troubled thoughts. It was not strange for her to traipse through the night in quiet, solitary contemplation, a prowling, growling, grumbling lioness lost in the uncertainty of life’s many concerns. She let her conscious mind give way to tracing and remembering the lay of the land, trails and paths committed to her vivid memory in practiced and precise detail. She enjoyed the pull and screaming strain of her muscle as they worked to navigate long, stout legs through the more treacherous crevices and routes of the scattered, rocky mountainside, and she reveled in the rush of her breath, in and out, a steady rhythm that echoed with the thrumming beat of her heart.
She was alive. Alive in the way that she can feel the energy of the earth in each hoof step, churning up the soil and crushing it beneath her as she moves, an undeniable specimen of strength and powerful elegance as she maneuvers through the night, complete and whole in body; a breathing, living, thriving creature.
If only she could say the same for her mind.
The rocky shelf that frames the hot springs comes into view, it’s layered ledges of stone and earthen clay visible in the soft, ethereal glow cast down from the heavens, courtesy of a cloudless sky. The dark, storm colored mare moves toward the water in smooth, fluid strides, her cobalt coat glimmering with the same intensity as the stars scattered in abundance above her, the sharp edge of her black and white brindled horn glinting in the deep of the darkness that envelops her in it's familiarity. Gilded eyes linger attentively on the calm, still water, and Larkspur marvels at the reflection that stares back at her as she comes to rest at the water’s edge. A tired, feral face glowers back at her, yellow-gold gaze stricken with an unexplainable ferocity, a wild, desolate radiance that makes the mare’s heart even heavier than it was.
Who is this? She wonders in muted despair, allowing a single hoof to slide and shift itself into the black reflectiveness of the water, breaking the image that had been there.
|
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
