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05-02-2013, 10:05 PM
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Old wounds that had healed in part and infected in the other drank greedily from the water of the river. Cold river stones pressed against his skin and made for him a bed of ice, but he did not sleep well. His dreams were dark, his rest fitful. Even in spite of the numbing of his surroundings he kicked out into the water, splashing himself with the movement. But haunted or not, sleep was sleep, and the stallion had not lain to rest in countless days, so each time he awoke he forced himself back into the dark. The next time that he awoke, it was for a different reason entirely. He had been on guard for too long to rest through the touch of a stranger. Slight pressure upon a wound that grew older each day aroused him, and with a snap of his neck he was staring directly at the blurred silhouette of a retreating mare. And for a time he thought that was all she was. A dark mirage, perhaps a shadow left imprinted on his mind to haunt him. He heard nothing and saw nothing more as the dark shadow retreated into the woods. He felt alone, he felt insane. He began to doubt how he had come here in the first place. Faintly, he wondered if he was even here at all, or if this was instead some figment. Strange, he had never imagined heaven to look quite like this. But then, just as his lashes threatened to strike his cheeks, she appeared again. An angel, if this was indeed heaven, carrying betwixt her lips a leaf of shimmering green. On her cheek rested a trail of wet, perhaps from a tear, or perhaps from the faint rain that fell from the grey morning sky. He could barely hear what she said as a faint weakness settled over him. Though he angled his legs to lift his body, he did not move as he commanded himself. Instead he could only reach forward to touch his lips to hers as he pulled from her teeth the leaf. In that moment, he trusted her implicitly and completely. The plant was like a sweet savior's nectar, dissolving in his mouth and filling him with a sense of strength. The fever and infection from the strikes of the shadows faded almost instantly, and the few small patches of skin that remained open sealed themselves into scars. In moments he felt as if he was glowing; in his eyes, lit from behind by the pale light of a dreary day's sun, blurred by the streaks of rain obscuring his vision, she was glowing. "Thank you, angel," He said, his voice clearer than he could remember hearing it for quite some time, a bit of his old spark back. He wasn't quite sure while he called her angel, especially since her true name floated vaguely in the back of his mind. He wasn't sure if she truly was his angel, (though he could never genuinely call someone such as her his own, of this he was certain) or if maybe even his old, flirtatious instincts were kicking in. She was, he supposed, beautiful. He did not feel for her in any way, but he supposed that yes, she must have been beautiful. He wasn't quite sure who or what she was, he didn't really care. He couldn't answer any of those questions about himself, either. It seemed now, in this grey morning weather, that it was best to let things answer themselves.  |
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