Taiga - where Arthas had said home was.
The journey was long and remarkable. The distance she spanned nearly too great a venture for the wasted creature that she had so recently become. Unknown to her, there had once been a time when her body had been curved with sturdy musculature, sculpted and defined by the travels of a vagabond and a curious heart. Her posture had been proud and her coat unblemished. And in that time she hadn’t known the struggle of fragility like she does now. In an intimate way she knows the ache in her joints, the burn in her chest, and the ugly exhaustion that threatens to make her vision swim in black. The mare is nothing more than a skeletal husk of the woman she can’t remember.
When she takes her first steps into the needle laiden floor of Taiga, the fleshy scars across her crest and withers pull tightly - annoyingly, having never quite healed right - gleaming dully under the guide of the moon’s light. You’ll know you’re there when you reach redwoods, the dappled once-king had said. It’s there that she stops, holding vigil in eerie silence, waiting for some inkling of recognition to make her heart clench and leap. But it does not come, even after the minutes bleed into the hours, and the brightness found in the eyes of the hopeful slowly fade away into the darkness of her own.
It doesn’t come.
And there she stands in lonely silence, as motionless as the titanic trees that guarded her. The only thing she lends to movement is a single ear, twisting as the broken wind carried past her.
@[Arthas]
The journey was long and remarkable. The distance she spanned nearly too great a venture for the wasted creature that she had so recently become. Unknown to her, there had once been a time when her body had been curved with sturdy musculature, sculpted and defined by the travels of a vagabond and a curious heart. Her posture had been proud and her coat unblemished. And in that time she hadn’t known the struggle of fragility like she does now. In an intimate way she knows the ache in her joints, the burn in her chest, and the ugly exhaustion that threatens to make her vision swim in black. The mare is nothing more than a skeletal husk of the woman she can’t remember.
When she takes her first steps into the needle laiden floor of Taiga, the fleshy scars across her crest and withers pull tightly - annoyingly, having never quite healed right - gleaming dully under the guide of the moon’s light. You’ll know you’re there when you reach redwoods, the dappled once-king had said. It’s there that she stops, holding vigil in eerie silence, waiting for some inkling of recognition to make her heart clench and leap. But it does not come, even after the minutes bleed into the hours, and the brightness found in the eyes of the hopeful slowly fade away into the darkness of her own.
It doesn’t come.
And there she stands in lonely silence, as motionless as the titanic trees that guarded her. The only thing she lends to movement is a single ear, twisting as the broken wind carried past her.
@[Arthas]