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08-23-2014, 03:53 PM
en natt så kall och månen den var klar
[ It's okay, it can be pretty hard to get back into a thread after a long while, and I sure took a long time. ><; @[Brisa] and @[Cirrus]. ]
He could've frozen, then and there—simply merged with the earth underneath his feet, the frost covering his hooves spreading up and down to seal him in place.. and his mind would've turned beneath the armor of ice, as slow as the heartbeat of the earth.
And everything would've been different.
But he wouldn't—couldn't—freeze, because he was Mauja, with a heart just as warm as any other's. Because he was just as alive as the curious, shy colts clustered around their mother.
His distant gaze was still on the trees, anywhere was fine as long as he didn't see them, and the gray, thick blanket between him and the world kept him from noticing Brisa until the last moment possible. And even then, when he ought to have at least flinched for survival reasons, he simply turned his head back ever so slightly, just a fraction; her dark, warm muzzle touched the rigid muscles of his neck. A quiet gesture, but one that spoke volumes, and he swallowed. Mellowed. Something slowly came back to life in the blue of his eyes, something soft-edged and sad, and one black-rimmed ear flickered to the sound of a child's voice.
"Mamma, why does he have spots?" he asked, and it seemed terribly ironic that it was spots, again. Spots and children. His gaze drifted to Cirrus, and she remembered just as he did, for a grin was spreading across her maw and a laugh fought its way free, wrestled its way into the heavy air. The skin around Mauja's eyes wrinkled, and the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. None of his children had ever been fascinated by something as simple as his spots.
Maybe because they saw them every day and knew what kind of a black heart they hid.
"I touched them once. And a spot grew on my nose!"
Oh, she... Mauja wanted to snort at her, remind her of how bad Cassiopeia had been at playing along with their childish antics—but Brisa wasn't her, that regal and aloof star-mare, and perhaps she knew how to smile, how to laugh, how to joke about harmless things like contagious spots. Slowly, he bent his head to loom less over them, and leveled a stern eye at Cirrus.
"So that's why one of them is missing," he simply said, grave of voice but with something flaring to life in his eyes.
He could've frozen, then and there—simply merged with the earth underneath his feet, the frost covering his hooves spreading up and down to seal him in place.. and his mind would've turned beneath the armor of ice, as slow as the heartbeat of the earth.
And everything would've been different.
But he wouldn't—couldn't—freeze, because he was Mauja, with a heart just as warm as any other's. Because he was just as alive as the curious, shy colts clustered around their mother.
His distant gaze was still on the trees, anywhere was fine as long as he didn't see them, and the gray, thick blanket between him and the world kept him from noticing Brisa until the last moment possible. And even then, when he ought to have at least flinched for survival reasons, he simply turned his head back ever so slightly, just a fraction; her dark, warm muzzle touched the rigid muscles of his neck. A quiet gesture, but one that spoke volumes, and he swallowed. Mellowed. Something slowly came back to life in the blue of his eyes, something soft-edged and sad, and one black-rimmed ear flickered to the sound of a child's voice.
"Mamma, why does he have spots?" he asked, and it seemed terribly ironic that it was spots, again. Spots and children. His gaze drifted to Cirrus, and she remembered just as he did, for a grin was spreading across her maw and a laugh fought its way free, wrestled its way into the heavy air. The skin around Mauja's eyes wrinkled, and the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. None of his children had ever been fascinated by something as simple as his spots.
Maybe because they saw them every day and knew what kind of a black heart they hid.
"I touched them once. And a spot grew on my nose!"
Oh, she... Mauja wanted to snort at her, remind her of how bad Cassiopeia had been at playing along with their childish antics—but Brisa wasn't her, that regal and aloof star-mare, and perhaps she knew how to smile, how to laugh, how to joke about harmless things like contagious spots. Slowly, he bent his head to loom less over them, and leveled a stern eye at Cirrus.
"So that's why one of them is missing," he simply said, grave of voice but with something flaring to life in his eyes.
Se dem brinna över verkan se dem dansa framför bål
Se dem mässa inför satan se dem smida sina stål
Se dem mässa inför satan se dem smida sina stål
