|
I wasn't finished with the Threshold. Not yet, anyways. After all, how could a queen be a queen without the followers? I would be queen. I would. That is why my hooves fell on the soft moss, my nostrils tasted the air, looking for the scent of horses. It was still a struggle to keep my identity- less, but still. The demons were waning in my mind, leaving, only a few insolent ones remaining. Those would be dead in a few days. Frostfall was the season of quiet reminiscing and memory-searching. Every year, I looked forward to this, in my brief moments of lucidity. Every year, a little more of my memory came back, returning to its home, a little stronger, a little brighter, a little more intensely. This year, the memories came in attacks. Savage grasps on my mind, images flashing before my pitiless black eyes. Glimpses of the cold land, where pegasi ruled and equines remained normal soldiers. Truly a land of war. I was not racist, but I did miss the ways I remembered. Fire crept into my limbs, and sparkling gems flashed before my eyes. Demons. Begone. I stopped, onyx hooves resting on frosted moss, like sugar on a cake. The crisp white snow had fallen thin here, under the shade of mighty trees. The demons raced inside the door, and eyes widened as I jerked sideways. Then they weakened, and immediately, I shook them off. They were gone for this season.
I broke into a brisk trot, wings rustling softly upon my silver back. That was how I came across a traveller, talking to a tree. But who was I to question, when in some seasons I was madder than a fox caught in a trap?
"Evening soldier." The words spilled from my grim lips. The words felt natural to a mind gripped by the past.
"blah blah blah."
|
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
