volcan
Burn slow, burning up the back wall
Long roads, where the city meets the sky
Most days, most days stay the sole same
Please stay, for this fear will not die
Long roads, where the city meets the sky
Most days, most days stay the sole same
Please stay, for this fear will not die
Strange how something so close can simultaneously be just there and so far away at the same time, but she makes it, they make it. Volcan almost falls into the cave, staggering with the exertion of trying to keep a hundred thousand raindrops under her control at once. The blessed relief of finally being able to let go of it all is only slightly marred by her pegasus friend shaking her wings, splattering her with cool water. They made it, and she can’t help but smile.
who are you?
Volcan looks up from the ground, head tilted. Good question, she thinks, but she says; ”Volcan.” It’s odd to think that once upon a time she had been so sure of who she was, of what and where she came from. She isn’t so sure who she is anymore, and from the way the pegasus looks at her, it seems nobody else is either. She’s seen it in them all, the way they look at her as if she is unpredictable and wild and hateful - the fire that’ll eat them up, if they give it the chance. Well, better they think of her as fierce and dangerous than weak, at least.
Volcan realises she has been, unintentionally, staring at the winged mare for quite some time. She lets a long breath (again not even realising she had been holding it). She’s not a diplomat, she has never been a diplomat...and maybe with some more of Hestia’s expert training, she might eventually become something resembling conventionally friendly… but not just yet.
”This week we rest.” she says. ”I will stay close and make sure you are well.” make sure you’re not tempted to hurl yourself off another cliff is implied but not said. Her wounds, upon closer examination, are more extensive than Volcan had first thought - there is blood on her legs, signs that even the maiden mare can recognise as the mark of childbirth. Her heart pinches at the thought of what this woman must’ve gone through… The bruises across her entire body, the cuts, the scrapes, the grazes… despite the wings, she looks small. Vulnerable. Volcan is suddenly very furious indeed. Fuck the people that did this to her. Fuck them to hell.
Volcan looks back up, makes eye contact once again.
”And then after that, we train.
Nobody will hurt you or yours ever again.”
or i’ll rip them limb from limb myself. it's implied, not said.
”I forgot to ask your name.” and like that, the intensity of the moment is past, and the smokey mare’s anger subsides. She hears the howling of the wind again, almost deafening. Trees creak and groan and crack. She looks now, to the murky yellow-grey of the storm outside. ”Please forgive my rudeness. How did you come to be in Nerine?”
She does not hold much hope that Nymf will understand her, after all, Volcan has trouble with it herself most days. But the fire that destroys...well, it can also provide comfort on long, dark, cold nights. And she is trying. She is really, truly trying.