09-12-2017, 10:42 PM
tangerine
face to the sun
Tangerine Dreamed
and dreamed and dreamed and dreamed
strange dreams which left her reeling in the morning, aching and confused. Dreams which demanded to be pondered and turned over and over in her mind. But what had first been an exciting insight was becoming a tiring responsibility. The dreams were never crystalline, they were fragments of a whole - reflected light and memories. They had to be interpreted.
Sometimes she did not read the magic right, that failure was a heavy stone to carry in her chest.
A foal had died, and she had known it would happen.
Or she should have known.
That was a stone Solace would carry for the rest of her life - because of her failure to properly use the gift she had been given.
The painted mare was tired of dreaming, she was tired of the small volcanic islands and when she grew tired she ran. The setting sun had been her guiding star pulling her west along the northern coast until she reached The River. She ran until her muscles ached and her lungs were want to burst.
And so, when she descends the mountains which guard Amet's lake, her lake, it is with a tight and short stride. But the ache she feels gives her satisfaction.
Tang would always be a drifter as long as she had four strong legs to carry her.
She was never as happy as when she was traveling, and today, there is nowhere else she would rather be traveling to.
The lake sits in a well of shadow as the sun flames low on the western horizon, its last rays kissing the gold of her coat with warmth. With her head high, the seer calls for the king in a voice loud and clear and ringing with renewed life.