[private] Under the old oak tree [Bowie]

[Hestia]

sweet as sugar, hard as ice.
if you hurt me once, i'll kill you twice.

Beqanna may not stink to any normal horse, but to Hestia every sharp and pungent odor results in the curling of her lip. Her senses are slowly dulling, allowing the humdrum of normal life to take its appropriate back burner to more important things, like, the exploration of the new world. It’s completely different from her old haunts, so big, so empty, possibly it makes her feel a little lonely. Her imagination cannot run wild here. Not in the way it could in the old world. There hasn’t been enough traffic for her to look at a tree and wonder and how many lives its seen pass it by. If it has seen more than her, or if she has seen more than it. They are no longer her equal, and she can’t imagine that these trees or plants understand her any longer. These trees have yet to develop scars, or survive the most brutal of winters, they have not seen magic tear up those around them until they are the only one left to tell the tale.

Her green eyes shimmer in the light wafting through the leaves. The ground is unyielding, making lying here with the purpose of feeling the earth conform to her body as others have worn in comfortable spots impossible. It is a loss that she doesn’t know quite how to comprehend. Standing on the edge of the meadow she looks in watching others as they bleat, frolic, and generally pay no mind to the lonely mare standing awkwardly on the outside. To her the changed world is still new, she has yet to be used to the differences. She isn’t sure that it’s possible for her to ever completely adjust to the newness. If she is being completely honest, part of her is a little fearful of it all. Where she used to be able to close her eyes and be sure to never trip or go the wrong direction, here she must pause, sniff, and change directions often. Still something seems familiar to her, something still lingers in the air. Yet trying to pin it down only makes the familiar piece evade her. How she wishes that she could grasp and cling to that small piece for comfort.

A foal slips in his attempt to leap and kick about, and a gasp escapes when the rapid patter of her heart pauses. Everything is so uncertain for her, if Nerine doesn’t accept her back she has nothing, not even her foal. No one knows what happened to her mate, nor was she able to find any trace of her children. If it wasn’t for the love bite she carries on her shoulder she would have thought that the whole affair a delusion of madness setting in. It wouldn’t surprise her if it was the case, as events in her life blur and fall away, jumbling within one another until she isn’t even sure of when she was born. She had seen the world over, and there wasn’t much that she hadn’t experienced. Now? Well now she isn’t sure of her own skin.

Hestia

@[Bowie]