Coming home is like walking into a clean room, seeing everything in its place. Seeing your bed made, your pillows fluffed, and all your clothes organized and hung in your closet. It is knowing that your spot for the a full night will be nestled within the comfort of your covers, surrounded by familiar smells and sounds. It is knowing that you are safe no matter what is going on fifty yards from your front door. It is being amongst a billion puzzle pieces, and then finally being found as the last puzzle piece. Where you just click in to the puzzle, a perfect fit.
Like being the wedding ring your wife has sought out, and watching how it slides onto her ring finger like somehow it was always met to be there; it just got lost along the way.
It had to build a history, first.
She feels that, here and now. She feels as though at last, she has been found by her puzzle and is being clicked in by elegant hands into a place that she has always longed for. Her Deserts was her home—is her home—and she owes it a lifetime of dedication. She was born here, they gave her a life here, and she must return the favor in giving it power.
It doesn’t take long for her scent to be then greeted with a physical body. It starts off as swirling pink sand that tickles at her fetlocks and then upwards to her chest. Exemplary ducks her face into her neck in half surprise, and half childish play. Her hazel eyes set on each and every grain as it rises out of her reach. She watches it, inquisitive, as it sparkles underneath the heat of her Desert sun.
And then, it forms a queen.
She is beautiful, suiting for the Desert in ways Exemplary cannot form into words. She is elegant, and queen-like. Her teal eyes are what our black mouse notices first, envious of such a rich colour. Immediately following her eyes, the next thing to catch the attention of our mare is the gold proudly placed on her chest—she exhales an entranced breath. Her body tenses as the feeling of a cooling wind gently breezes over her, the presence of their queen like a breath of fresh air—the Deserts welcome her with relief and comfort.
Welcome to the Deserts, her voice so soothing, so warm. What can we do for you, Miss..
This is where our little mouse is supposed to speak.
And yet, she finds herself gaping like a fish in awkwardness; a default of her lack of socialization, to say the least.
Her head rises, leveling with her majesty, attempting to form sentences…words even, to make herself appear as intelligent as she truly is.
“Exemplary,” and when she finally does find the words (hidden beneath wonder and amazement of her surroundings), her voice matches the softness of the woman before her. She has a harp like sing-song tone, elegant and classical—feminine to the bone. She is beautiful in a simplistic way, onyx black, prophets thumb pushed in the side of her neck… a small indent of what some will believe to be an injury, or defect, yet it is the result of the womb and said to be good luck, and for that she will wear it proudly. The only marking she has is the smallest snip on her nose, a soft cream of white with the slightest amount of pink as it kisses her muzzle. Other than that, our ebony mare is dainty and flawless—simplistic, and pretty.
Nothing like the flashy queen standing before her.
“The Deserts gave me a life, and I am here to return her favor. I want something to do, I want to serve,” and while she has no ambition to lead (as of yet, she hasn’t found her diplomatic ties), she has the slightest hope of being successful. Not in an obnoxious way, no she wasn’t one to draw attention to herself. She likes to be great, without being arrogant. She longs for her name to be stamped in history, and yet at her deathbed have thousands of eyes glossy with salty tears. She is meant to do something, but she isn’t sure what that might be.
Exemplary
I will be yours, and only yours, until the day I fade to black