01-15-2018, 03:13 PM
She dances with the wind and laughs with the sky, as free as wild bracken that grows on hillsides long forgot. Perhaps she has been civilized once, but today she is no more distinguishable from the earth than clouds from the sky. She is star-spun; distant and shatterable, in that untamed way of hers.
Saedís is waiflike and sprightly and her step is spry as she winds through the breast-high grasses, nose tilted to the vast sky, admiring the stars and their untouchable beauty; their near-intangibility, so that they are little more than myth and legend to the creatures who stare wondrously at them, earthbound.
Saedís has made her home in the forest, in the earth and the sea and the sky. As she has grown used to them, so they have grown used to her – and she is so much the same as the stars that she so astonished admires. Saedís – of the stars and sea. Born and raised by them.
Beqanna, she thinks, must have expanded. When did the forests end and this forlorn meadow begin? She cannot recall. She has been too busy tracing the flight of the crow with her smoky muzzle; too busy caressing the earth´s luscious turns with her feet – so busy she has forgotten where she is. Silently, Saedís scolds herself, she must not be inattentive. She begins to turn around – to trace her own steps back to where she has come from, the quicker she makes her exit – the more probable she won´t get into any trouble.
It is then that she sees her: a mare. She is as Saedís, or halfway so; startlingly white, as the snow, as the lamb, as the stars and Saedís must follow, for it is in her nature to always yield to curiosity. The mare looks so carefree, so hapless! Saedís allows a slow, careful smile to crawl on her charcoal lips as she follows, bird-song lilts from her gentle tongue, and she is at peace. She does not know the horror of the world yet, and her eyes brim with a beautiful, pure innocence. In them the stars and moon are reflected, silver dapples in the black cups of her eye – and she wonders at the way the silver shines off the coat of the mare so alike her own.
There is no wild screech, no terrified squeal from the white mare to alert Saedís that something is amiss as the world suddenly slips topsy-turvy into shades of white and yellow and darkness dents the corners of her sight. Saedís tumbles into the weathered page of the book with a loud yelp and her eyes are saucers of fear and confusion as her nostrils takes in the musty smell of old parchment. The mare is gone; shattered as all illusions must shatter sooner or later and Saedís finds herself alone and terrified in this new place – cursing her naïvety and youthful confidence.
Her only company - and this realization forges a strangled gasp similar to a sob of shock escape through clenched teeth – is her own name, ink-black and hovering just above her head as if a quiet observer following her every move.
Saedís is waiflike and sprightly and her step is spry as she winds through the breast-high grasses, nose tilted to the vast sky, admiring the stars and their untouchable beauty; their near-intangibility, so that they are little more than myth and legend to the creatures who stare wondrously at them, earthbound.
Saedís has made her home in the forest, in the earth and the sea and the sky. As she has grown used to them, so they have grown used to her – and she is so much the same as the stars that she so astonished admires. Saedís – of the stars and sea. Born and raised by them.
Beqanna, she thinks, must have expanded. When did the forests end and this forlorn meadow begin? She cannot recall. She has been too busy tracing the flight of the crow with her smoky muzzle; too busy caressing the earth´s luscious turns with her feet – so busy she has forgotten where she is. Silently, Saedís scolds herself, she must not be inattentive. She begins to turn around – to trace her own steps back to where she has come from, the quicker she makes her exit – the more probable she won´t get into any trouble.
It is then that she sees her: a mare. She is as Saedís, or halfway so; startlingly white, as the snow, as the lamb, as the stars and Saedís must follow, for it is in her nature to always yield to curiosity. The mare looks so carefree, so hapless! Saedís allows a slow, careful smile to crawl on her charcoal lips as she follows, bird-song lilts from her gentle tongue, and she is at peace. She does not know the horror of the world yet, and her eyes brim with a beautiful, pure innocence. In them the stars and moon are reflected, silver dapples in the black cups of her eye – and she wonders at the way the silver shines off the coat of the mare so alike her own.
There is no wild screech, no terrified squeal from the white mare to alert Saedís that something is amiss as the world suddenly slips topsy-turvy into shades of white and yellow and darkness dents the corners of her sight. Saedís tumbles into the weathered page of the book with a loud yelp and her eyes are saucers of fear and confusion as her nostrils takes in the musty smell of old parchment. The mare is gone; shattered as all illusions must shatter sooner or later and Saedís finds herself alone and terrified in this new place – cursing her naïvety and youthful confidence.
Her only company - and this realization forges a strangled gasp similar to a sob of shock escape through clenched teeth – is her own name, ink-black and hovering just above her head as if a quiet observer following her every move.