07-17-2019, 11:36 AM
Ilma
One night I will be the moon
hanging over you
One night I will be a star
follow where you are
hanging over you
One night I will be a star
follow where you are
The sunlight of her wings changes every minute; slowly, but gradually, the setting of the sun becomes visible on her back. But between the trees, the light seems abundant, no matter the deepness of oranges and reds the wings are made of now. For the white mare this doesn’t matter; she’s as used to it as anyone is to the rise and setting of the light source each day.
The stranger’s decision to follow up and investigate makes him known to her, the moment he makes it. That’s not to say that she sees him coming from far away - only that he does not surprise her when he appears to speak. She lifts her head to regard him, and lets whatever is left of the light dissipate just a little early - he seems to be more comfortable in the dark. For her, it is only a minor adjustment - it is so every night, now just a moment quicker. The white, ethereal mare shrugs at her new companion. ”Moths?” she smiles a little at his remarks. Moths are the least of her worries. For all that he accused her of carrying around the light, now she is a white shadow, a ghost in the darkness of the forest. But that’s not something she would rib in this moth’s face. ”Why would the moth belong in this forest any more or less than the light it chases?”
The stranger’s decision to follow up and investigate makes him known to her, the moment he makes it. That’s not to say that she sees him coming from far away - only that he does not surprise her when he appears to speak. She lifts her head to regard him, and lets whatever is left of the light dissipate just a little early - he seems to be more comfortable in the dark. For her, it is only a minor adjustment - it is so every night, now just a moment quicker. The white, ethereal mare shrugs at her new companion. ”Moths?” she smiles a little at his remarks. Moths are the least of her worries. For all that he accused her of carrying around the light, now she is a white shadow, a ghost in the darkness of the forest. But that’s not something she would rib in this moth’s face. ”Why would the moth belong in this forest any more or less than the light it chases?”
Hurry, the sun is waking
Darling, don't leave me waiting
Darling, don't leave me waiting
@[Tunnel]
Any fool knows men and women think differently at times, but the biggest difference is this: men forget, but never forgive; women forgive, but never forget.
Robert Jordan, Wheel of Time