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01-18-2013, 11:48 PM
"I'm sorry." Out of the dead that lay bloated and pale under the waters cold and heartless she comes, a pale specter, so very similar to the unicorn she has come to regard as one of her very dearest friends; but the alabaster mare does not have a horn, nor a mane stained with blood. Inside the vast, cavernous chest Tor aches with confusion, with pity and wonderful lightness, relief, at finding the mare unharmed and whole before her. Yet her heart remained heavy, filled with tedious guilt. Will Ophelia, the mare whose mind older than her body, understand the reasons she has left the Gray? Speaking of which, how does one bring that up? Tor never wanted to hurt her, never wanted to do this. Why had she broken ties with the family? Ophelia had been gone. It had all been so rational, so well constructed, when she had met Destrier, and lost the unicorn girlfriend. But what now
No, she cannot break her promise to Torasin and Rishima. The best she can do now is a clean break, a smooth snap of home instead of a jagged fracture, and hope Ophelia will help set the splint, if not heal it herself. Hardly does Tor notice the young one, so consumed she is with her own worries and thoughts. She had not met Ophelia since... The meeting with the Gray? No, this wouldn't do. The draft had to fix the problem. The ghost moves quietly through the mud, flecks of brown liquid glistening on her lower legs and clotting in her thick feathers, nearing the mare who lurks in the darkness. "Forgive me, Ophelia- I have left the Gray. Can you understand, my dear friend?" Please let her understand. Please.
Tor would rather not have the young filly here, not with the discussions that should take place, but regardless she turns to her with a quiet, easy smile, and asks softly- "Where is your mother? Here of all places is not safe for one as young as yourself to roam alone." And it wasn't. None of the living, in fact, should roam the halls of the dead.
No, she cannot break her promise to Torasin and Rishima. The best she can do now is a clean break, a smooth snap of home instead of a jagged fracture, and hope Ophelia will help set the splint, if not heal it herself. Hardly does Tor notice the young one, so consumed she is with her own worries and thoughts. She had not met Ophelia since... The meeting with the Gray? No, this wouldn't do. The draft had to fix the problem. The ghost moves quietly through the mud, flecks of brown liquid glistening on her lower legs and clotting in her thick feathers, nearing the mare who lurks in the darkness. "Forgive me, Ophelia- I have left the Gray. Can you understand, my dear friend?" Please let her understand. Please.
Tor would rather not have the young filly here, not with the discussions that should take place, but regardless she turns to her with a quiet, easy smile, and asks softly- "Where is your mother? Here of all places is not safe for one as young as yourself to roam alone." And it wasn't. None of the living, in fact, should roam the halls of the dead.
WORDS OF COMPASSION ARE STRONGER THAN ANY ACT OF POWER.
