|
She and the alabaster and marbled equine are not left to linger alone for long. From the breadth of the Basin’s surroundings her fellow soldiers come forward, militants marching for the cause, encircling the unprepared victim, loitering in her ignorance, foolishly deigning to consort amongst malevolent monsters and the wicked. Weeks have passed by the midnight mare in a constant blur, each day melting into the next, her heart beating solely for the purpose of driving the blood through her veins, her mind lost in the aimless, empty wanderings of remorse and regret. What a vacant, hopeless feeling it was, to be consumed with guilt and unable to restore the foundations of trust and faith. Her conviction was nothing more than broke, crumbled ramparts; ruins long lost to the timeless battle waged between the need to seek redemption and the want to remain in shameless indignation. But nothing ever stays the same, and the seasons pass in slow, unrelenting succession, nature heralding the arrival of Birdsong, and with it a metamorphosis. Even she, the infallible warrior, unfailing in her dedication, unwavering in her perseverance to uphold excellence, found that the tides of her melancholy and misery were beginning to change. And she felt it now especially, an undeniable sense of belonging, as if her existence had finally found the foothold it had been scrambling for along the sheer cliff face of her desperation.
Deimos acknowledges her, and she swells with unabashed pride, an indescribable sense of acceptance all but overcoming her. She exchanges her own curt dip of her horned brow, golden eyes fierce, steadfast, her resolution built upon the framework of her loyalty and the foundations of her devotion. She would not leave, no fear or fire could chase her from her obligation. The bay stallion also concedes her at his arrival, and again the cerulean mare is consumed with an inexpressible appreciation. For too long she had allowed herself to linger in discontent, dawdle and simmer in the biting flames of her own disquiet. However, the creature that now stood before them was not the same Larkspur that the good general had whisked away from the shadowed woods of the threshold. No, the mare before them now demanded attention with her presence, commanded respect with the ferocity of her stance, the incontestable tenacity with which her gleaming, burning eyes bore into those of the stranger who thought herself brave enough to step hoof here. In wake of Deimos’ demand and the intruder’s ensuing response, a guttural, indiscernible huff is the only noise that she offers the ivory and ash stained mare before them. Her slender ears lay pinned against the flat of her skull, ebony strands of wild hair flying against the azure backdrop of her elegant face, teeth snapping in irate exasperation. There was no need for her to speak, for the unicorn knew that her temper was as volatile as any living flame, and it would be unwise to allow it to burn the ignorant fool that stood before them, when far worse things awaited her idiocy of traipsing so carelessly into the lion’s den.
|
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
