Bellisma

She kept her wide green eyes trained on the stallion, though her tuliped ears flicked quickly between the hound and the the blood man as he spoke.

’No luck in love then?’ his relaxed voiced washed over in such contrast to her tightly wound body. “Love?” There was wary bewilderment in her quiet question. She knew not of love, she knew only of surviving. Of powerful men celebrating their victories, and being rewarded with her service. Of a lazily cruel master who toyed with his pet.

She opened her mouth to answer his mystifying question, but her tiny lips snapped closed as his fervent words struck her. The vengeance in his voice sent a tremor rippling like liquid gold through her hide. This power, this anger, this need to inflict pain- it was what she was accustomed to. It was what she had hoped to be free of in this new land with her newfound freedom.

Green eyes had grown even wider at his tone. She was hesitant to take them off the scarlet stud, but she needed to know if the hound was hunting her now. The merest of glances flicked to the hound, before she returned her prey-like gaze to the horned one. The glance told her the hound was not watching her- instead he was watching the stallion with what had seemed like worry? This realization almost made the small mare more fearful. She almost would have preferred to know that both beast and hound were hunting her, instead of such fury from the beast.

She started once again as he repeated his earlier question in a different, more directed manner, 'What you would know of vicious, hopeless beasts?' Some of these past beasts had wanted conversation when they visited her- not many. But especially Rrazmik. Talking delayed the physical blows- and sometimes mitigated them. A fractured shoulder could be reduced to a broken a rib; a dislocated tail could become a mere bruised hock. So Bellisma seized the chance to talk- despite recounting a past she wished to leave far behind. A past which looked oddly mirrored here.

“I am- no, I was the pet of- of-” terror once more stole her voice, but this time it was of a past beast, not the one before her, “Rrazmik,” the name was forced out hoarsely, sounding foreign on her tongue. She had not spoken the name since- well since she had been beaten for saying it the first time. Though the name had no weight in these lands, it had an immediate effect on the minute mare. Her form grew weary, lines creased her pretty face, and her vibrant eyes went glassy with darkness, “He was the epitome of a vicious, hopeless beast…”

Her voice trailed off, mind beginning to become trapped in the caves she had been kept. Though it returned quietly, as her wind chime voice tinkled out, “He kept me chained in my run- my place off his cave and quarters. I was taken as at two, when they defeated my herd and family,” her story was becoming disjointed as she sank deeper in her memories. Briefly, she shook her head, aiming to continue her story and survive, “At first I was his. But I guess… I guess I could not maintain a foal with his- his-” oh, saying this aloud made it so real again, “-his assaults. So I was shared. Given as a reward to battles well won, I imagine,” her glassy and fearful gaze left his eyes as she spoke bounced between his mouth, horn, chest, and ears.

Talking was good. Talking kept you alive. So she continued the most complete recounting of her tale she had ever said, “It’s surprising how differently you powerful men celebrate. But there’s always something cruel… debasing, hurting, embarrassing. Always something…” The way her voice petered out was haunting.

Though she recounted what the stallion had said, ‘Somebody has to pay.’ These were not satisfied words. This was not a man happy with his conquests. This was a man she only dealt with in the form of an unhappy Rrazmik. And, to Bellisma, it was best to keep him talking, ‘Somebody has to pay’ “Someone must answer for- for what?” The question was quiet, and she fervently hoped against hope that she had not pushed too far.

‘Somebody has to die,’ the words echoed in the slowly clearing fog in her head. “I’ve escaped- I’ve made it so far. I’d like not to die, yet,” the words were a quiet plea, but she lowered her head to level with her withers a she said them. A look of veteran resignation has stolen the fear from her beautifully sculpted face. Verdant gaze shifted down to his knees- the hooves were generally the first blow. Fire burned in her belly and in her throat- this was new. A want- no a need- to fight back. But what could she do?

She took a tentative step backwards away from the stallion. It was slow, it was hesitant, it was small. But it was still a step. She kept her head low and eyes averted from his face, unable to meet the intense two-tone eyes.


ooc| Sorry for the delay. I made it long so it was (maybe) worth some of the wait? Hehe, and don’t apologize for the museplosion! I love it when those happen! xD @[d’Artagnan]