08-29-2016, 10:25 AM
Mother tells them of Beyond, of the lands big and small that lie outside the clutches of the Sunrise. They flank her, one on each side, as she talks long into the night and on into the morning, past sunup and towards noon about the great prairies that birthed her then killed her - Scalped is honest in her tale-telling, of how she came into her immortality and how they, thus far, are the last of her sons and daughters. Each of them takes one last suck of her teats, but the milk is drying up and they’ve begun to sample the grassy fares on the Tundra’s outskirts where their mother chooses to stay.
Spear & Spark give their mother loving little eskimo kisses; they rub noses together, breathe one another in, and feel like this is the last time in forever that they will see the medicine-hat mare. Their hearts are heavy on the trek back into the Tundra’s icy arms, but it is one they have made often and will always make because it is home to them and Scalped will always be that for them too, a beacon of love that beckons them forth from time to time, but she lets them go - they are growing, and they have been consigned to the Tundra for safekeeping.
The pair of them are boundless in their energy as they attack the permafrost in great ground-eating strides; they have of course, challenged one another to an unspoken race to see who is the fastest. Spear is by far the heavier of the two, favoring their father in size as Spark favors their mother, small and swift. She is quick to outdistance Spear only to be buffeted by a particularly harsh gust of wind that knocks her sideways and sends her staggering to her knees.
He is there in an instant, not all that slow but conceding the race to his sister; concern rides the crook of his brow, as he bends his face towards her. “You okay Spark?” She grunts, struggles back to her feet and leans against him, beset by a lean pant and the wind that has knocked the breath from her. “I’ll be fine Spear, that wind came out of nowhere!” He nods, solemn in care of her as he shields her against further outbursts, but the wind has picked up and slaps heartily at both of them until they dart into a cave --
The cave is overbright for a naturally dark space, and they are momentarily blinded from starting into the dancing flames of a fire that has no apparent reason for existing. Neither of them can see the lightmaker huddled in on herself in a corner of the cave, all cozy and bedded down against the cold. They shiver-shake the snow from their backs, his bay and hers pale as the snow melting fast at their feet. It runs away in little rivers and they both look away from the dancing fire to what lies beyond - the filly, the maker of such a fascinating thing. “Neat,” they both say in rare unison. -- Spear & Spark -- |