Brine smells them before she sees them. The daunting fumes of oncoming visitors. Ruthless, however, is fully devoted to finding the leftover insects that haven’t died in the first few cold snaps, her nose diverged in dead grass and dry soil.
“Ruth,” her voice is more threatening as her anxiety begins to build. Ruthless hears the worry in her mother’s tone, an emotion far too familiar for a child of her age. Brine feels it, the stress build in her neck and trickle down her spine. Her sides begin to throb. Her stomach is a churning barrel of anticipation.
Ruthless is unphased.
The storm-hued mare is the first to speak, leaving the air with a lighthearted greeting. Brine notices her hesitation to come closer, and part of her is torn. Is she as emotionally burdened as she believes she is? Or is this mare just being a little extra cautious.
“Good morning,” Brine lets a neutral tone respond, her eyes still heavily guarded on Ruth who has just taken notice to the newly joined visitor.
The little golden child wastes no time on greetings, and instead waltzes her way closer to the grullo female.
“You are a lot darker than I,” she states in a matter of fact way, seeing the dark tones mesh into a storm of blues, browns, and black. Her brown eyes trace every dark shade, her mind spiralling at the thought of nighttime, shadows, and dark caverns.
“Pretty,” she nods in approval, though no one really asked. Brine feels partially mortified, though again, Little Ruth is no where near aware.
Breathe, breathe, breathe
The second visitor approaches. She smells of something strong, something home. Like she resides somewhere, but Brine is unfamiliar as to where that is. She also seems more put together, confident, perhaps experienced.
“Woah, you’re a fire,” is what Ruthless can gather from the new visitor. She is completely engulfed by the red mare, a colour she hasn’t yet seen. Her wings flicker in excitement.
Brine hesitantly takes a step forward towards Little Ruth, fearful of the distance that has grown between them. However, to keep her child out of the spotlight was like keeping an eagle trapped in a cage, impossible and inhumane. Ruthless would rebel, and Brine would lose all she had left.
“Thank you. I have ones like my mom once did. But she lost them. I hope I don’t lose mine.”
The blue roan looks back to her sides, feeling the pain still throb where her wings once were. Apart of her, she never knew they could be taken so easily. And yet here she is, bound to the ground like a dog chained to a tree, never to feel the adrenaline of lift off again.
“Thank you for your honesty,” Brine chokes out in an attempt to laugh it off, a horrible attempt really but an attempt, nonetheless. “Brine, and this is Ruthless”.
Though, the golden bird didn’t need much of an introduction. She already had the world in her grasp.
Brine
find yourself, then come find me
@[Jager] @[lilliana]