Oona
The horses of the field seemed to stir as the sun begins his descent. The hot months of summer burned the coats of the pale ones and suffocated the dark ones. Oona fell somewhere in between the spectrum of hues that spread over Beqanna. The palest dust of rose across a dappled gray coat, like the faded lipstick on the collar of a lover. Once vivid and fresh and new but now faded with time but there was always a fondness, a twinge of excitement when your eyes fall upon it. An association with another time or place, possibly forbidden.
When she is simply a silhouette against a sky on fire, she moves from the security of the sparse trees to the openness of the field. The chiseled skull dipping to scent and occasionally lip at the thin blades that bowed before her. Dark pools watch once she has raised her head to see other nameless faces join the woman on the plot of earth. Acknowledgement is given mutually, exchanged almost curtly when equines moved passed the tall Hanoverian.
Lobes twitch in the direction of murmured voices (though some of those intimate conversations could be picked up if you tried). As the sky grew sleepy and the moon grew fat, little speckles of stars began to open their eyes and wink at the lives below. She can not help but smile lightly in the comfort of moonwash. The night sky wraps around them all in a delicate blanket. Bits of warm breeze tousling manes with the scent of grass and wild flowers.
There was a star riding through clouds one night, & I said to the star, 'Consume me'