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03-06-2013, 08:38 PM
She came quietly.
No desire did she have for conflict, war, or the bitter things she so scorned. Neither did she particularly wish to encounter Mirage; her heart clutched at the memory of Ophelia's dreaded words and furious anger. As she moved, poring over every detail, remembering the white mare's cold chiseled face, she tried desperately to see if there had been any sign of forgivance. Anything, a crack in the marble face; even just the thinnest of crevices. Nothing. Again her vision clouded, the ground blurring and the trees melting into the blue sky, green fading into blue somewhere unknown.
Tor stumbled, nearly falling, hooves scrabbling for a hold on earth, silver hair on her cheeks glistening wetly under the tear tracks that twisted down, dripping silently, filled with all her regrets and sorrows. Destrier had understood her need to leave; he hadn't been happy, but he accepted it. Unlike Ophelia. Unlike Mirage? Did the dark mare Tor had tried to save so long ago want her back? Clearly, otherwise these Edge members would not be here to fetch her. Yet why? She knew little- no, nothing- of the Edge Queen, or her position in life. Punishment, or maybe she just wanted to talk? Tor had this nagging feeling something was wanted of her, but she didn't know anything at all. She was out of the loop, and felt little want to speak, for fear the tears will fall harder and her voice will crack under the burdens of treachery she carries on her back.
Treachery. There was no nice word to put in its place; betrayal, backstabbing, coward, the one who abandons. Not once, but twice. She deserved whatever she got. Tor didn't want the Gods to help her. They shouldn't care for her anyways, with her god-awful record. The only thing she prayed for now was for her children, her innocent foals and her dearest Destrier; may they ever grow stronger and become the great horses they are meant to be.
Tor shook her head, the wetness on her face fading under the glittering light of the sun shining through the trees. The guards left her, perhaps sensing she was not going to run; or maybe they simply were going to be replaced by whoever had ordered her here.
No desire did she have for conflict, war, or the bitter things she so scorned. Neither did she particularly wish to encounter Mirage; her heart clutched at the memory of Ophelia's dreaded words and furious anger. As she moved, poring over every detail, remembering the white mare's cold chiseled face, she tried desperately to see if there had been any sign of forgivance. Anything, a crack in the marble face; even just the thinnest of crevices. Nothing. Again her vision clouded, the ground blurring and the trees melting into the blue sky, green fading into blue somewhere unknown.
Tor stumbled, nearly falling, hooves scrabbling for a hold on earth, silver hair on her cheeks glistening wetly under the tear tracks that twisted down, dripping silently, filled with all her regrets and sorrows. Destrier had understood her need to leave; he hadn't been happy, but he accepted it. Unlike Ophelia. Unlike Mirage? Did the dark mare Tor had tried to save so long ago want her back? Clearly, otherwise these Edge members would not be here to fetch her. Yet why? She knew little- no, nothing- of the Edge Queen, or her position in life. Punishment, or maybe she just wanted to talk? Tor had this nagging feeling something was wanted of her, but she didn't know anything at all. She was out of the loop, and felt little want to speak, for fear the tears will fall harder and her voice will crack under the burdens of treachery she carries on her back.
Treachery. There was no nice word to put in its place; betrayal, backstabbing, coward, the one who abandons. Not once, but twice. She deserved whatever she got. Tor didn't want the Gods to help her. They shouldn't care for her anyways, with her god-awful record. The only thing she prayed for now was for her children, her innocent foals and her dearest Destrier; may they ever grow stronger and become the great horses they are meant to be.
Tor shook her head, the wetness on her face fading under the glittering light of the sun shining through the trees. The guards left her, perhaps sensing she was not going to run; or maybe they simply were going to be replaced by whoever had ordered her here.
WORDS OF COMPASSION ARE STRONGER THAN ANY ACT OF POWER.
