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Willow Posts: N/A

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03-11-2013, 06:07 PM

WILLOW & ERMINE

.arborun lignea .. .mare. .23 years. .. .16.3 hands.

[Blarg, I've had this in my head for a few days and now that I finally get to writing it down it feels all jumbled and not as good :| oh well. Anyone can post but she won't be posting again.]

Dawn broke across the dreary sky of this unfortunate place. So dark was the deep forest in the embrace of night that the sun had been up for some time before the first golden rays trickled in through the trees. Like amber hands the light reached down.
If only Willow had the strength to reach up and take hold of it.

At first glance Willow seemed as if she belonged, a tree among trees. In some ways the forest was reminiscent of her homeland, Prim'sylvia, but she had never truly belong there, as she did not belong here. Let your eyes drink in the scenery further, you'd find the horse nestled beneath the hanging fronds of the willow tree.
She lay broken and alone in the woods, barely stirring as the sunrise freckled her hide. The Grey had left her to her freedom, as promised, the moment they set to march towards the north, to the Windtossed Foothills.

Pain still lanced through her body despite her healing efforts. It was a pain that had settled more in her heart than her flesh, and those were always the longest wounds to heal.
She remained cocooned in her self-pity and doubt while the war waged on. She could not hear it, but she knew it to be so.

When at last an end came to the fighting Willow felt all the warmth seep from her skin and wiggle into the earth like worms. An abrupt chill ravaged her so that she trembled fiercely, gasping for air as though it had been forcefully ripped from her lungs.
She knew that that it was gone. The Windtossed Foothills, her home, her ability, her dream, all gone.

The sensation of losing magic is as close to dying as one can hope to get and live to tell the tale afterwards. If only it could have been the uncomfortable experience and nothing more, Willow could have handled it better, but it was so much more than that to her. Jackal had given her a great gift in naming her healer of the herd. He had fulfilled a life long dream of her's and finally given her wayward soul a certain satisfaction that she had never before felt. For once she had been whole and happy, truthfully.

Now that was all gone.

The Lignea lay on the cold ground, sheltered under her willow tree, her Weeping Willow.
Oh how she wept.

Some time in the night when the tears had dried in her emerald eyes, Willow stood and quietly walked. She walked out of the depths of the woods and kept going until Helovia was at her back.

A wiser mare might have known better than to judge Helovia by the action of one cruel band, driven to actions by their unfortunate situation, but miserable actions just the same. Willow felt however, she'd learned all she needed to about Helovia. It, like so many other places, was overrun with war and greed and she could gain no more from it.

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