07-08-2019, 08:17 PM
The stories her mother told her always sounded as if they were from another life time. She spoke of how her father, their grandfather had been a pirate and his mate would wait with the children, including Keav, her young sister, and her two older brothers, while he went out to sea. She would stare out at the ocean for hours on end, willing and wishing he came over the horizon. Keav, as she grew, she would join her mother, sitting on the shore as the waves would lap against their hooves, the tiny baby digging her hooves in the sand, comforted by both her mother’s presence and the sound of waves breaking. For little Astana, the tales of the ocean always made it sound like some distant land that she would never be able to reach. Due to their father’s severe weakness to water, it meant they would probably never live beside the ocean ever again as her mother had done when she was little. And it broke her little baby heart, the first time she had asked. Perhaps though, of all the stories her mother told, it was the stories of the star horse that spoke to her very heart, her very soul. While her mother’s pelt had reflected the night sky, much like Etoile’s. The horse she spoke of was made of stars. When he sweat, it was not water, but stardust that dropped from him, shining and sparkling. It was as if he were made from fairytales, all of them, woven together to create one, beautiful creature. Her mother had been in awe of this amazing stallion since the first day she met him, and every night he would jump into the night sky, becoming a star once more for the evening. The brightest star in the sky her mother said. And every morning he would return to them, sparking and shining and luminescent once just as he had always been. Until one day, he didn't return with the sun, and the day after that, and the day after that. He never came back. He never came back to her. And so when Astana finds herself peering up at the night sky, admiring the shining friends above, she cannot help but think of the story her mother had told, and how lucky she had been to meet a star horse, even if it had been only for a short while. This is not the first night that Astana is alone, but the previous night was the first time her mother had not visited her dreams. Astana thinks she may be busy, but the last time she had seen her, there had been an almost acceptance in her gaze, from one wayward wanderer to another. Her dream wandering mother perhaps had chosen to go else where. Those diamond eyes are just about to close when something, call it fate, intuition, destiny, or just a plain coincidence, stops her from doing so. She stares out along the snow and she sees something strange. Where she should only see the starlight reflecting off its surface, she spots something different, something unusual. But this is a little girl with diamonds for eyes, a mother who walks in dreams and strolls through stars, and a father made of gold, just like her. Unusual, she knows, does not always mean dangerous. And when she sees a sort of ethereal glow off the snow, she knows she must go to it. “Hello,” she says only when she reaches where the glow is coming from, but the trees surround her and she is not sure which way to turn. “My name is Astana,” she says to the open, winter air. “Am I dreaming? Or are you real?” She asks, fearless, curious. “And if you are real—can you say hello to me too?” |