for every tyrant, a tear for the vulnerable
in every lost soul, the bones of a miracle
At sunrise Kensa is already awake, she loves summer in Hyaline and greets each morning with an energy that is so like her usual self that one would almost think she were not ill at all. Of course she will be near exhausted by noon, fatigued by the strain fighting the plague puts on her body. There are hours until then, and this morning her blood thrums with a familiar passion for life.
She is not up in their nest, but headed for another favorite place. A niche where fruit trees and spindly oaks grow together, the air syrupy sweet with the smell of summer fruit trampled into the dewy grass. The lake lies below, vast and blue beyond the narrow trunks. She splashes through the blue water, considers lingering for a swim but the water feels wrong, insufficient sensation. She trots up the pebbled shore and continues on her way.
The greener seasons have done right by her, she is leaner than she ought to be but not yet cage ribs and jutting hip bones, Hyaline’s rich fodder is keeping its Ambassador as fit as possible under the circumstances. It probably helps that she eats a lot of plums.
Of course the plums are wrong too. Too sweet to break her fast on, even if she were hungry, which she isn’t. She tosses a few of them to the ground and pulverizes their foggy bruise-colored skins under her pale hooves. The squish under her feet is repulsive and she shivers with amusement and disgust while dancing away from the feeling.
Some days are like this, the world is bright and loud and smells intensely of life and rot. Kensa relatively vibrates with it, thrilled by the very intensity of existing (others might be overwhelmed but she is special, or odd).
Peeking back out of the trees and down towards the lake again, her topaz eyes search for the pale beacon of Litotes. He is good company when she feels this way, seems to enjoy her exuberant ricochets. Gives chase when she runs, leans in when she touches. He is her bright place and she needs him now, her head is full of him all at once, certain that he is just the right thing. She’s Goldilocks today, capricious filly again. Kensa calls for him, a flirtatious come-hither whinny that she hasn’t used before but is certain will bring him around her way.
@litotes
