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*"I am part of 'he Grey. I am a s-py…I was curs'd. By 'he Goddess o' 'he moon…It shhhouldn't last much longer.”*
The Grey, hmm? The old gal hadn't heard of a group by that name, although as she strove to keep her independence, that wasn't much of a factor. Cal’s heart—that old, shriveled appendage that had tucked itself away for some years now—went out to the poor, bony creature as it spoke with complete and total misery for its deformed visage. Cal cringed every time the mare strove to use its unfamiliar body, though now Cal understood the reason for such clumsiness in the mare’s movements. She was transformed—changed, it seemed like, by the hand of the Moon Goddess or whoever-the-hell she was trying to talk about. Cal snorted at the thought, thistles fluttering under the force of her breath. Cursed by a God. Somehow the thought seemed ironic in nature, or at least arbitrary in the reasoning behind it. Why would a God go to such great lengths to create mortals that thought for themselves and killed for themselves and loved themselves overmuch—only to curse them in the end? Was that not a waste in strength and prowess? Or—perhaps—a shade of vanity was tucked away somewhere in there. Perhaps they got off on demonstrating their awesome powers on products of their awesome powers. The thought caused Cal to chuckle slightly.
The real question, however, was why the Spe-shul had been cursed by the Goddess in the first place. It wasn’t as though the Deities went out randomly to some poor fool that happened on the merchant road and decided to bestow gifts or strip them of their dignity (or maybe they did? Cal thought with another chuckle). This mare must’ve gone out of her way for some reason to become the object of the Moon Goddess’ attention. Did she approach the Goddess herself? Or was she guilty of some great crime and was being punished for it? Or maybe really might’ve just been a victim of pure, blind fate?
Whatever the case, Cal supposed a simple solution to the quandary: It was none of her goddamn business.
*"….No. I'm not okay."*
Cal gave a little groan as her question was finally answered—and not on a positive note. No matter what fault there may be in Spe-shul’s name, Cal couldn’t stop the flow of motherly sympathy she felt for such a vulnerable girl. If it was a curse, it was quite an effective one; here was someone, so obviously brittle and stripped of any pride or honor, the basest and most raw metaphor of the living creature. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Cal said in her low, throaty voice; she lifted her head a little higher, her eyes contemplating the bony lump of horseflesh as she spoke, “and I hope, truly, that you find a way to break your curse.” She shifted in her spot, her tail lashing weakly on the grassy scape. A mischievous gleam suddenly leapt into Cal’s brown eyes.
“In the meantime,” she said and a slightly stronger voice, “I sugges’ you take some time to think ‘o bout all this, and as’ yerself: Was it worth it in the end?” It was a question everyone needed to ask themselves every now and then—otherwise, you’d find yourself going ‘round and ‘round in circles, thinking you’re gettin’ something done.
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