Wings that were the width of her agile body took to the burgundy skies. Night treaded all over the world, basking in heavy clumps of heat lightning that fell with the shake like a giant’s footsteps. Those wings pummeled through tiny gaps in the superheated mist, even at this elevation the world was on fire. She whisked through the hazardous wind, blaze first, trembling with emotions of sheer terror and sheer awe. Electricity shot through her veins. Her eyes lit with each passionate thought, as lightning cradled her in a sultry, hungry way. She was too quick. The old civilization below was falling further behind, and the hazel eyed girl knew it would never keep up, or never fall back – from her memories.

It had been days – weeks – or even months that she’d been gone. She didn’t count. One: it was too much effort. Two: she couldn’t find the nerves to care. Three: well, she was alone. There was no one to solidify the fact of hours passing, no one to tell her she is in the wrong direction, and no one dismembering her hopes. She was all at once new, and shiny.

Chandä had vanished from the brink of her homeland four hundred and thirty two days ago. She had cried twice in all of those numbers.

The girl is with us now, flying at a pace unmatchable by her past figure. She is fit, and sweat drips eagerly as it runs down in jagged pathways on her legs and to her hooves and off. Veins etch surreal patterns in her multi-colored chest, and her eyes intently scan the realm below. She is stronger than before. She is no longer the fragile girl locked away in the dark, demeaning hoard of medication. Freedom is perhaps the best word to describe the sensation speeding like the oxygen bubbles in her popping veins. It is perhaps the best feeling she’s felt in a while. Part of it is the sky, and part of it is the fact that there is more to the outside world.

The sky is a marvelous shade of cyan, but where she is, is in the centerpiece of a long, slender cloud. Her vision is veiled by the overhang of clear mist. Fortunately, the arrogant sun cannot reach her here, so instead she is surrounded by the hiss of warm wind currents, warm wind currents with mist. And as she moves out from the cloud’s forbidding reach, she finds why it would have been important to stay in its conditioning shadow. The sun devours the once cool mist, and it feels as if it is boiling upon the mare’s back. She is drenched with the arid air, clinging to the evaporating mist like eyes on a target. Out of the seething panic, Chandä descends, and her legs crash through sparse branches that have been weakened by the sunny heat. They snap and all too quickly, the mocha colored girl lands with her legs slipping in the dusty kicked up debris. As all resides for a moment, she shakes, and hurries to the nearest, most healthy tree. "Damn," she mutters under a flustered breath.


Chandä

Sky falls, you feel like it's a beautiful day