Bellisma

At the sound of another voice the small mare leapt to her hooves, slender legs thrashing violently and righted herself so abruptly. Facing the newcomer, but not truly seeing the other through the fear that had recaptured her mind, she rapidly backed away a few horselengths. In Bellisma’s experience, it was never wise to face your hind to another. Unless you planned on running, and knew you could outrun them. But this white mare had wings, and Bellisma’s body, already shaking with exhaustion from her days of flight, was now trembling with panic and surprise.

With the increased distance between her and the other, Bellisma was able to recapture some fragments of her mind through her fright’s fog. A deep, shaky breath inhaled and exhaled through her flared nostrils as she attempted to calm herself- though years of conditioning and abuse made her fight the calm. Calm got you captured. Elsa’s words finally penetrated her anxiety, as did the details of the other’s form.

The other mare was beautiful, just as herself. This made her relax tremendously. Beautiful mares could be trusted, for they usually were pleasant. Ugly mares knew their place, and though may be unpleasant, were generally not unkind. It was the mares that balanced between the two that she had learned to be wary of. The often were threatened by beauty, and could be incredibly cruel. This was the world from which Bellisma came, and it was all she knew.

Bellisma’s dainty face, besmirched by only a few smudges of mud, relaxed somewhat- though her green eyes still held the remnants of her panic. She shook herself cautiously, sending a few clods of mud flying from her coat, mane, and tail. Though she was still deliciously dirty, she had shed the inch-thick coat of thick mud that had clung to her when she originally stood.

Taking another deep breath, she opened her mouth to address the mare, but the fear had claimed her voice and had not yet released it. She snorted in consternation, shuffling a foreleg and again sending mud into the air. Her face was a mixture of unease and irritation. She tried again, and won her voice back, though the sweet sound trembled, “Y-yes. I-I’ve just… come here,” her pause made it clear that she was uncertain if she should reveal that she fled here. Would she be returned as stolen property? And where was ‘here?’

“Where is ‘h-here’?” Her voice was stronger this time, though she still stumbled over some words. She dropped her eyes, and though her gaze had been actively avoid eye contact before, she now no longer even allowed herself to look at Elsa. She had been taught (and ‘taught’ meaning beaten into) that eye contact and staring were signs of dominance. And Bellisma had not a single dominant bone in her body. Only survival ones.

She realized that she should give a name or risk being rude. And rudeness was punishable. “I am…” she paused realizing she was about to give the name her master had given her. But she no longer needed to use that name. She wanted complete freedom from her previous life. So she instead used the name given to her by her mother, “My name is Bellisma.” This time her voice was surer, stronger, but still quiet and bell-like.

She shifted, discomfort from her fatigued muscles, welts, and the large gashes (amid the scars) on her back leg seeping through the adrenaline rush her terror had produced. The mud had a cooling effect though, and held the deep aches at bay for a while longer.

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