it’s in the stars
it’s been written in the scars on our hearts
we’re not broken just bent

A feathering of overly sensitive black whiskers brushed past the rough cold face of a wall; there were three and one misshapen half, each chiselled by prehistoric waterways long ago. Thin black lips at the tapering end of his lean, dull brown face then pressed closely against the unyielding surface; they quivered, filled with potent sensation and traced an invisible line downwards until the whiskers found another wall, also icy when his lips pursed to touch it. He could not run his lips along this one however without bending his weak knobbly knees, to crouch- it was the floor of his cave.

It had been some time since his days left at liberty to roam blind through the vast labyrinth of trees marking the Threshold. He could tell neither day, nor night, but in his bruised memory that world was much less reality now, and more a hazy delusion haunting restless sleep. Since following Mauja on the long arduous journey from the intimidating, yet proverbial forest, the foal had changed little. A sickening gauntness still haunted his unloved, malnourished frame and the sour, though lush grass he picked at with limited interest around the jagged fissure opening his cave, provided little energy- certainly it was not sufficient enough to fuel the growth of one so young.

Druid had spent much of his time hidden away through the crevice which barely even he could squirm between, but it was protection and it was cosy; hidden against the granite rock ledge above the bubbling hot springs. There was little choice as to whether he actually wanted to stay or not. Mauja had led him such a distance that his legs had trembled with exhaustion, and he had collapsed into perhaps the deepest and longest slumber he could remember. There was little chance of return, even he knew. He remembered Delinne, but she was alien in his upturned life, like the strange, softly spoken stallion and the other mare- Leyra. The foal seldom found comfort in their company, and so chose this reclusive way to pass his days.

Despite his preference to loiter within the humidity by the hot-springs- that near vicinity being his natural comfort zone, Druid did suffer the twinge of loneliness in his young heart. Often horses would pass through the warmer area, paying the little ugly horse no interest when he gambled closer- he was not one of them, nor was his worth anything grand. This day, guided by the careful shuffle of his tiny round hooves, the small appaloosa slipped from his hideout and began a very slow amble across the rock platform which jutted above a hot shallow pool. He searched a long time for a path down, instinctively bluffing steps to determine the security of his footing, and apprehensive relief surged through his scrawny body when at last the supple cushion of grassed loam began to descend out from the cloud of steam he had become so accustomed to.

Even beneath his hooves, Druid could feel a sudden coldness and his nerves scrambled to make sense of the strange sensation bombarding him. He continued still further down the hillock and the grass began to slush, his hooves to slice and sink, and unease crept like the plague into his confused mind. The flinch of his hide betrayed a boiling desire to escape whatever unreliable plane he had stumbled upon, and his white unseeing eyes widened unhappily as they searched through the darkness. So he stood there, unable to move for fear of slipping, miserable while the cold Basin air began to sink as a penetrating blanket across his bony hips, fingering the ridges of his spine and he shivered with unrelenting regret.


"Thinking. Speaking. Acting."

it’s in the stars
it’s been written in the scars on our hearts
we’re not broken just bent

Feeling despondent and quite deafened by the barrage of confusion in his unsophisticated mind, Druid unusually failed to notice the suddenness of the interloper’s arrival. Fretfully he blew through his nervously pinched nostrils and the sound was sharp, though barely enough to crack the steady thrum of the Basin’s white noise. His lungs were not of that strength. It was the strange clean scent of the stranger that startled him firstly, too thin legs trembling all the more as the sudden realisation that he was not alone flooded his conscience, washing his mind clean so that he could then also find the rhythm of her pumping breath. In an instant the foal leaned back his ears so that the nestled as close to the matted oily strings of black hair as could be managed- a warning undoubtedly, and he frowned outwardly so that the hollowness of already unattractive face bluffed with belligerence.

"You don't gotta look so scared, y'know," A sharp penetrating voice insisted suddenly. Although the sound of it seemed to Druid to be delicate and unlike that of any he had previously heard, arrogant confidence lathered its tone and the pitch grated against the ungainly appaloosa’s fraying nerves. "It's just snow an' slush. It ain't gonna get you." It came again and he grunted ignorantly, with not the faintest idea about what she was referring to. Entirely uneducated and lacking any sort of social refinement, Druid stamped a tiny, round hoof in the direction of the persistent voice all the while licking his lips with dislike. Unfortunately the deep, slippery slush promptly swallowed his gesture and he slipped forward awkwardly, his body flushing rapidly with hot, burning fear. With no experience managing emotion or expression, or seeing such portrayed by others, the colt’s upset was sprawled in twisted bewilderment all throughout the fine muscles across his face.

"I'm Rhiannon!" The unfazed voice continued, though it was closer now as his taught hindquarters sought slowly and hesitantly forward to rebalance his tingling weight, post-slip. Names meant little when life had been so solitary, and while the irritated flicker of his small dark brown ears betrayed an inevitable level of curiosity and attention, the foal endeavoured to appear focused exclusively on his own security, be it in the company of this... voice, or in the unpredictable ‘snow’ the slush had been labelled as. "My papa's Crowley, the Weaver here, and my momma's Elizabeth, the Corporal. Who are you?" He sighed impatiently, though her perseverance and somewhat bothersome loitering tweaked mild reassurance into some instinctual crevice of his mind.

“Who are you...?” He repeated silently, and a memory unfurled itself quite abruptly so that he blurted gracelessly- “M...m...m...Mauja...” No image filtered down into the hollow gloom of his gaze, there had never been pictures in his world so his stunted imagination drew blank. The stallion’s warm, concerned voice did swell with the pulse drumming through his ears though, and he suddenly felt helpless and lost. Many months had been spent learning the labyrinth of forest which now seemed to be only a distant, forlorn memory, and now he was here. He knew not where here was though.

"What's wrong with your eyes?" Druid snapped out of the sullen nature of his consuming thoughts, as her curious question soaked against his easily eroded confidence. “W...W... What’s wr.. wr-ong with y...y...yo-ours... .” He retorted childishly, the broken fragments of his uttered oversensitivity spilling uncomfortably from his surly tongue. His blind milky gaze narrowed quickly, and his chin tucked as he issued a brisk conclusive snort. The colt was unsure what Rhiannon was talking about, what his eyes were, and what could possibly be wrong with them. He knew no different, nor was he aware that disability crippled his world. As an immature desire to find her reaction simmered through his unreserved, emotive face, one ear flicked forward towards her direction.


"Thinking. Speaking. Acting."