Cosmos
A pink light amongst the East, Cosmos wanders its lands as if they all belong to her. They do belong to me, she thinks, pausing at the border of Pangea and Silver Cove as she drinks in the cleaner breeze. Sick equines, healthy equines, sweet and salty both - they mingle in her nostrils and coat her tongue.
They smell of fear.
None of them will embrace the sickness that has ravaged Beqanna. White and gold whisps tip into her eyes when her head tilts into a curious smile. Lips closed, eyes gleaming, whole body leaning into the ocean’s wind - Cos is a lovely sight, the only hint of plague a slight dribble of blood dripping onto her lips. The girl has been fortunate enough to feel only mild symptoms, perhaps a sign that staying in the land of the Dark God offers certain favors (musings she keeps entirely within Pangea’s borders).
Above a storm brews. Gray clouds reflect like little orbs of light in her lavender and gold eyes. She lifts her muzzle to the sky, holding the refreshing scent of rain at the bottom of her lungs. With the looming dampness comes the newly discovered ache in her joints; no matter, Cos was never meant to be a warrior (just a prophet, always a messenger). The pain washes over her in light waves, pulsing and only increasing in miniscule amounts.
Physical pain has never bothered her.
Existential pain, though - that always has.
She does not dwell on that now.
The rain begins to fall as she steps over the border. Curls are loose and heavy as they dampen against her neck. Pretty, dainty, curious - and yet somehow fierce with knowledge at the same time.
They smell of fear.
None of them will embrace the sickness that has ravaged Beqanna. White and gold whisps tip into her eyes when her head tilts into a curious smile. Lips closed, eyes gleaming, whole body leaning into the ocean’s wind - Cos is a lovely sight, the only hint of plague a slight dribble of blood dripping onto her lips. The girl has been fortunate enough to feel only mild symptoms, perhaps a sign that staying in the land of the Dark God offers certain favors (musings she keeps entirely within Pangea’s borders).
Above a storm brews. Gray clouds reflect like little orbs of light in her lavender and gold eyes. She lifts her muzzle to the sky, holding the refreshing scent of rain at the bottom of her lungs. With the looming dampness comes the newly discovered ache in her joints; no matter, Cos was never meant to be a warrior (just a prophet, always a messenger). The pain washes over her in light waves, pulsing and only increasing in miniscule amounts.
Physical pain has never bothered her.
Existential pain, though - that always has.
She does not dwell on that now.
The rain begins to fall as she steps over the border. Curls are loose and heavy as they dampen against her neck. Pretty, dainty, curious - and yet somehow fierce with knowledge at the same time.
when you go,
take this heart
take this heart
@[aegean]