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06-26-2016, 11:41 PM
There is a storm coming. She had been flying southbound with a fire burning within her chest, scanning the ground as if she will find something of interest from this high up. Only trees and dull grass pass below her for an eternity of time.
No bodies, no people, no signs of life.
Within hours, the world had crumbled into the same beauty of the sea. Below, she opens her jaws and tears them wide, screaming with the wind and thrashing violently. Foam gathers around her lips and the wind slams strands of messy dark hair into the mare’s purple eyes. Off to the distance, in a direction that makes her chest clench and curl up with pain and loneliness, is home. Far away, possibly missing her. She wonders if they mess her as much as she misses them, if they’re trying to celebrate a victory for their lost sister, hoping that she hasn’t died in battle and has instead won the riches of war and is currently living it well. Sisters do not simply leave their clans, but it has happened in the past, spoken with hushed and nervous whispers about a woman who has given away the love of Mother Earth.
Tears rain from the sky instead of her eyes. Thick, rolling bellies lurch with their weight and pour it against her body and to the mass of the sea. Lightning flashes with aggression to the west where the storm gathers its strength for an assault.
Ahead, there is desperation and a wild card she will waste no time in taking a chance on. Islands are painting their black, fading outlines along the disappearing skyline, igniting the wet slopes of their cliff faces when the lightning screams across the sea again.
She is not going to let herself die in a seafaring storm.
None of them wear signs of home. While the cliffs would easily signify the islands controlled and patrolled by those of her favoured Earth clan, there is nothing in the trees to prove this is the place where she had loosely fallen in love with a warrioress with raw passion in her chest and power in her muscles. Bones don’t hang from the branches, smoke doesn’t linger in her nostrils. There are no valiant songs telling of great queens, generals, the victories of many battles and those who did not think before acting. Laughter doesn’t feel the empty feeling in the air, darkened by the rolling clouds that aggressively attack the earth with rain that is starting to feel like knives.
At the edge of the cliffs that she has landed near, standing at the boundary between sea and sky and earth and trees, the weather nearly reflects how she feels: upset, lonely, and lost, far from a home that she may never see again in this lifetime.
OOC: open thread! feel free to come in with anyone
