12-08-2015, 06:55 PM
 ***Above there is a cheery conversation — a delightful staccato of chirps and warm trilling. Her ears flick, and she glances up. A bright goldfinch and his much less vibrantly-garbed female companion exchange contact. And then she is off, whipping acrobatically through the air and away from the canopy. Vineine watches it, growing ever-smaller before piercing the barrier of her range of sight, and off into the great wide blue. She often wondered what it would be like to take flight as a girl, but she was subject to the earth. Grounded by nature, and so she can only watch. ***She tries not to long for things she cannot have. Her mother had been so adept at letting things come to her, she had set up such high standards for her offspring. Ironically, in many ways, asking them to defy the nature of their own minds. ***Had she done the same to her children? She hopes they know they do not disappoint her in any way. ***Her soft eyes drift away from the skyline, her instincts pulling her mind from distant rifts to time and space and... She watches him as he nears, this creature of primal purity. There is wilderness in him, spoken through the tangle of his mane and the clear expression of his body. She breaths in, finding the muddled scent of dirt, trees and equine musk inviting. She returns his nicker with her own in kind, reaching out her neck — seeking contact, but going only so far as to nod it a little. “Hello,” Her voice is clear and kind, but sharply inquisitive. Probing, but not demanding. It reaches out its fingers for information, for names and scents and faces. “Beautiful day, isn't it?” ***She is a walking contradiction. A fervent follower of Mother Nature, so unconventionally created. So outside the realm of her Mother's arms, that she often wonders how close to her she can really get. So she studies birds and flowers; the passing phases of the moon and the seasonal surrenders... And imagines that everything in this strange and exciting world is under the purview of the forces. No matter how bizarre. Hopefully. Otherwise she is lost. ***She is not as at rest with her unnatural womb as he is with his. Her growing place had been warm and rosy, a mortal hall — but the quickening had come from something much more other that simple copulation. ***She offers him a smile, turning her head a bit to get a good look at his features. His outreach aching in her gut but again she resists the temptation to press her nose to him. She loves touch, the communication that can be passed skin-to-skin was the most valuable. “Hello.” She returns, maybe she can feel something pulsing between them, a silvery string ties from heart to heart. Connected in some way she is not privy to, so she lets it be. “I'm Vineine,” She offers them both, and to the air around them. Sending her breath back to be reconstituted. ****‘...Herself in the Heavens, her beam on the waves.’ |