05-04-2017, 12:02 PM
The sun was glorious, it was golden and full and it loomed above the horizon like a pregnant peach, overripe with delicious splendor, spilling gold into the world. The nectar of it, the sweet ephemeral saffron spun slivers of youth and the melancholy of the lost summer breeze together and from this seamless fabric slipped, solid and chimerical, the daughters of imagination. They were creatures of smile and soundless euphoria, embodied of the sun and the earth and skipping through the realms that we inhabit oh so briefly, a wisp of snap-dragon or a hot breath that shivers in the face of logic. Their laughter, sweet and silken soft was the melody of dreams and the cries of nightingales lost in the falling dusk; and the touch of their skin – damp with youth but hot with sensuous promise, was unbearable and golden.
She was beautiful, because she didn’t know it. And though she was young, and carefree, and though the light never faded from her love-kissed eyes she had a sad understanding that only made her simple grace and her smile palpable, acceptable. She was a child exposed, but not corrupted, and she glowed in her singular philosophy.
She was still alone, as she had been when she arrived in Beqanna, though she seemed undisturbed by it. She flitted into sight at the edge of Sylva a few hours before the sun would have set. Appearing, as was her wont, along the gilded tree edge. She wavered, as though for a moment the darkness beneath the trunks was impenetrable to her, but she pressed on anyhow. As the afternoon wore very much on the massive trunks of the ancient forest rose and engulfed her diminutive presence in the silence and slumber of their history. The sunlight slanted through the bare branches in the canopy above, sometimes throwing dappled light on her golden skin. She was more subdued, somehow, the metallic sheen of her coat was less extravagant. The muted palomino made her seem older, or maybe just quieter, than she was, or had appeared, in her element in full sun. It was cold in the channels between the trees here, at the edge of the wood, where the wind slid razor-sharp under the sun, and every now and then the little body shivered, but she seemed unconcerned.
Alone. And yet, as though the eyes of a crowd were upon her, she moved with the exaggerated energy of childhood. Every gesture was a show, for the burnt canopy, or the birds rustling above, or the unseen gods – who could know? The huge gray form of a boulder cast a cool shadow over the already dim earth, coming stalwartly into view. She reined in her feet, delicate face tilting side to side, her eyes finding all the heights and breadths and scale of it. Then, with exaggerated care, she took big, silent steps toward the gray surface, all the while trying to keep the whole of the rock in her sights. Daring it to wake up and move before she got near enough to touch it. When she was within arm’s reach she lunged the final distance, bumping the rock with a forceful intention with her tiny shoulder. Instantly, there was a clatter of claws on rock as a startled squirrel took off across the boulder’s top.
Alayaya jumped backward, tendrils of little mane bristling and feet scrambling on the leafy floor. She swung around and, so quickly it could be whiplash inducing, the frightened tension melted from her frame and was replaced by giddy lightness. “There you are!” she said, high lilting voice almost a song. Standing before her, unseen until now among the trunks and fire, was a blue roan form. Giggling, the filly danced forward until she was close enough to touch the mare’s muzzle with her own tiny one but, at the last minute, tucking her chin shyly instead, glancing up through fluttering gold eyelids.
a l a y a y a