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I wonder if the Moon Mother places all the stars in the sky herself, bestowing each sparkling light on its velveteen ebon shelf, or if she simply tosses her head, shaking her sparkling mane, and so they swirl out, celestial beings high above. It it what seems an infinite distance from me, yet so close, and my more curious side ponders the possibility of flying high enough to touch them, to feel their brilliance bursting, blossoming on my dark skin, crackling with the taste of lightning and ozone that makes the very night air spark. There is a terrible beauty of them, a savage brilliance. I cannot imagine they are simply gently floating orbs, shaped by caring hands and the goddess' imagination. There must be more, something that makes them outshine the legends on earth. Perhaps they are the legends of Loorien, unicorns and horses and pegasi immortalized in a different form, forever watching over us from their mighty perch in the empyrean cosmos. Would I reside in that divine realm when I passed, or would I be plucked from my life and tossed somewhere else. I cannot imagine myself being whisked away by the Earth God, to turn to stone slowly from age; nor quickened through time; the Sun God's heat would only burn and curl my feathers; but the Moon Goddess, surely she would care for me when I died.
Did the gods care for our deaths? I had heard of the ruins of the dark, chaotic island jutting out into the ocean, a rough-hewn bridge connecting it to the mainland; of desecrated shrines. But they could be so many causes. Surely the gods would not have shredded their own divine symbols on earth, nor torn them with vicious hands, or covered them with weeping flowers. I was certain there had to be another explanation. A trespasser- who had been quickly smited by their might, only the gods could not heal the wounds caused to them. It was an idea I preferred, but I could not deny that the gods had stopped answering the calls of my people, and of others, when the shrines were ruined.
Her name, drifting on a breath of wind, I catch with my ears, but I do not engage in tedious conversation, and neither does she seem to. Instead, we glide along so gracefully. Certainly I could become close to this mare, the one who seems to use words as little as I. But bonds cannot be forged solely on silence, either, but still I cannot quite bring myself to clear my throat and enter painful unaware words. Instead, I spiral upwards, wingtip brushing her neck faintly on the way should she not move, and laugh with a clarion voice, eyes sparkling. I do hope she will play with me, such a silly childish game- tag, I know- but even the simplest of things can bring two strangers together more than you would think. How rare is it for I to actually wish for company?
I glance downwards at her, a playful smile at my lips, and whisk upwards, higher into the starry sky.
Catch me if you can.
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