04-23-2015, 11:26 PM
"You are weak. Nothing. How did I end up with a child without even so much as its parents' immortality? Worthless."
These were bits and pieces of her memory of her mother. Rather than words of affection. Rather than guidance. Of course, having not known what should have been, she only knew what was. And even at only a week or so old, she knew there had to be better out there. Better than that. She was going to be strong, not weak. No, she is strong. She thinks she's proved that by making it this far without her. Maybe, but all she needs is a chance. She needs to eat. She needs her mother's milk, as much as she wishes against it. Triske just knows there has to be someone out there that would see the strong little fighter. The fire that refuses to be extinguished. It is just a tiny flame, currently dim from lack of kindling, but with just a little fuel she could be great. Her fire could know no bounds, flames rising to the sky, smoke reaching its silky fingers to touch the stars. Limitless.
All she needs to do is keep moving. Another step, two more. Keep her head up. It's so heavy. Everything hurts. Breathing hurts too, but she will not lay down. Will not give up. She wants to cry, but does not. Would not, even if she had the energy. Her mother said crying was weakness, and she would not prove the mare right. She'll show her.
And then it happens.
Someone has seen her, just as she's hoped. Brown eyes, too big in her scrawny face peer up at the stranger from under black lashes. She tries to lift her head to look at her face, into her eyes to gauge her expression, but it's so hard. With some effort- and a subtle flinch- she does it anyway. The dappled mare gives the filly a gentle nudge and in return, she clacks her gums instinctively, almost unintentional. As soon as she realizes, she stops. She knows she already appears weak, and certainly doesn't wish to further that.
Small, fuzzy brown ears flick forward as the mare speaks, her overall stance welcoming. Triske is ever-grateful and staggers in her relief of being found by someone nice, leaning against one of the mare's strong legs to steady herself. She hasn't much energy to speak, however, so she forces the words out in broken sentences. "No.. home.. Help.. yes. Go with you." Her voice is so small, but there are undercurrents of hope. Of strength. On the outside, her body struggles while inside, her inner light beams and glows deep in her soft, brown eyes. She hopes this mare, so pretty and strong, can see that in her. She hopes that she will not be let down. And that she won't, in turn, be a let down. Not again. A touch of shame hoods her -too young- features. "Hungry. Hurts." Please don't call me weak, I just need a chance. The words go unspoken, but the thought shows clearly in her eyes.
These were bits and pieces of her memory of her mother. Rather than words of affection. Rather than guidance. Of course, having not known what should have been, she only knew what was. And even at only a week or so old, she knew there had to be better out there. Better than that. She was going to be strong, not weak. No, she is strong. She thinks she's proved that by making it this far without her. Maybe, but all she needs is a chance. She needs to eat. She needs her mother's milk, as much as she wishes against it. Triske just knows there has to be someone out there that would see the strong little fighter. The fire that refuses to be extinguished. It is just a tiny flame, currently dim from lack of kindling, but with just a little fuel she could be great. Her fire could know no bounds, flames rising to the sky, smoke reaching its silky fingers to touch the stars. Limitless.
All she needs to do is keep moving. Another step, two more. Keep her head up. It's so heavy. Everything hurts. Breathing hurts too, but she will not lay down. Will not give up. She wants to cry, but does not. Would not, even if she had the energy. Her mother said crying was weakness, and she would not prove the mare right. She'll show her.
And then it happens.
Someone has seen her, just as she's hoped. Brown eyes, too big in her scrawny face peer up at the stranger from under black lashes. She tries to lift her head to look at her face, into her eyes to gauge her expression, but it's so hard. With some effort- and a subtle flinch- she does it anyway. The dappled mare gives the filly a gentle nudge and in return, she clacks her gums instinctively, almost unintentional. As soon as she realizes, she stops. She knows she already appears weak, and certainly doesn't wish to further that.
Small, fuzzy brown ears flick forward as the mare speaks, her overall stance welcoming. Triske is ever-grateful and staggers in her relief of being found by someone nice, leaning against one of the mare's strong legs to steady herself. She hasn't much energy to speak, however, so she forces the words out in broken sentences. "No.. home.. Help.. yes. Go with you." Her voice is so small, but there are undercurrents of hope. Of strength. On the outside, her body struggles while inside, her inner light beams and glows deep in her soft, brown eyes. She hopes this mare, so pretty and strong, can see that in her. She hopes that she will not be let down. And that she won't, in turn, be a let down. Not again. A touch of shame hoods her -too young- features. "Hungry. Hurts." Please don't call me weak, I just need a chance. The words go unspoken, but the thought shows clearly in her eyes.
![[Image: 33csrhy.jpg]](http://i57.tinypic.com/33csrhy.jpg)