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08-06-2012, 04:42 PM
I am brazened by the audacity of the awful black thing to come and touch me. Scornfully I snap my teeth at its plush nose, not amused by its air-talk or its foolish gangliness. The other, another set of identical twins I note with mild surprise, though my growing anger and despair at the loss of my angel don't let me linger on this long - he is sitting dumbly too. I realize quickly that I'm wasting my time. The longer I spend the further she runs. Why has she run so far away? I worry she's in danger and my anxiety floods my feet into motion. Before I've gone more than a few strides one of the black colts is upon me. His eyes are wild and his hooves dancing with an unspoken urgency. Annoyance tilts my ears back. Between the poet in the Threshold and this mime, I can't help but wonder if everyone in this place has some sort of speech impediment. "Spit it out or get out of my way," I growl, wings raising in a threatening manner. He does more than spit. His tail whips around with a wet smack I cannot help but wonder at. Before I can do more than sit back on my haunches he's begun to paint, literally paint, me a story. It's hard to follow at first, everything's black and a bit splotchy. And it's fast, he's very animated. Would not telling me be easier? He cannot I realize. I would have been more awed were I less furious. His tale I absorb readily then, and soon enough I've discovered it. My face must have changed because he seems to visible relax, smiling even, in a dopey way. I wonder why he needed so badly to tell me? I am grateful he did however. Together we turn back, and I stand near the black colt lying on its side in the dirt, nearly unmoving. Its gray eyes are glazed over and I fear her, him, it? dead, save for the steady rise and fall of the ribcage. "Olema," I murmur, my voice tight as it speaks the name. It pains me - I am still confused as to what has happened. Sadness threatens to brim from my eyes as her heads lifts and turns. Her expression brightens immediately, eyes clearing to a rainy day. I sob despite myself, kneeling down so that we embrace by neck and touch and breath. "Oh Olema, what has he done to you?" |
