Umbriel’s emerald eyes, so stark and bright against the black rings around her sunken eye sockets, never wandered from their post along the trail. They were the only bright thing in this darkness. Shades of brilliant spring green flecked them, as well as tiny droplets of amber. Indeed, Umbriel’s eyes and her horn were the only remarkable things about her. The rest of her was drab, ugly, gray—forgettable. So very forgettable. She wondered if her father and mother had already forgotten she existed, forgotten that she came from their loins as surely as her brother did. They would never forget her brother, though. They would never forget how Isomer saved them from exile… and how Umbriel had nearly gotten them killed. It amazed her how much of a difference a horn could make. If she’d never been born with this thing, this horrible obsidian abomination, she would be loved. She would be looked after and played with by all the other horses in her herd. She wouldn’t be here, wandering eternally, half starved because of her stupid hang ups. Umbriel drew a shaky breath and exhaled fully, as if wishing to send all the negative energy within her out with her hot breath. She remembered when her horn had first started to come in. It hurt and made her itch, much like a child’s teething phase. She remembered the horror on her mother’s face, the regret; she remembered the absolute fury on her father’s. Little Brie had been so confused—she was just like her daddy, special, having something that no one else had in the herd. The soft velvet hid her horn’s true ugliness from the world until it had fully grown in. Instinctually she’d known to rub it off like the bucks in the forest did, and once unsheathed, her horn had caused her nothing but trouble since. In her adolescence, the minx had tried several times to break it off, but it was harder than she imagined it would be. Solid bone, solid rock, solid something—all Umbriel knew was that it could not be broken, or dulled. It was still as razor sharp as it had been the very first day. The grulla mare sighed once more, this time truly expelling all the bad thoughts within her. It wouldn’t do to keep thinking like this, not when her concentration was needed elsewhere… like focusing on not being eaten by wild dogs. |
violent red.
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06-30-2012, 04:24 PM
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Messages In This Thread |
violent red. - by Umbriel - 06-28-2012, 04:39 PM
RE: violent red. - by Ulrik - 06-30-2012, 01:09 AM
RE: violent red. - by Umbriel - 06-30-2012, 04:24 PM
RE: violent red. - by Ulrik - 07-01-2012, 03:59 AM
RE: violent red. - by Umbriel - 07-04-2012, 10:18 PM
RE: violent red. - by Ulrik - 07-08-2012, 01:02 AM
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