12-12-2017, 06:40 PM
Wound has called Tephra home for only a small piece of her life, yet it already has much of her heart. She has explored nearly every inch of the island, wading through the tidepools of the beaches and leaping across the winding streams of lava and finding shelter in the lush, thickly-grown trees that rest close to the base of the protective mountain. She knows little of its inhabitants, aside from Femur and Longclaw and Warrick, but she is determined to meet more.
The only thing that holds her back is her own insecurity.
She’d spent the day following a particular river of molten lava, enjoying the walk as she wound between overhanging vines and shuffled through burnt charcoal embankments. A day of walking always brought an ache to her joints as the sun began to fall, and so Wound turns her heels for the ocean’s shore. The salt and warm water and constant movement of the tides soothe her bones when her disfigured leg brings forth bouts of aches and pains no one her age should deal with.
Wound finds herself withers-deep in the salty waves when the bellow rings through Tephra. She’s never heard the call of a leader before (aside from the demanding, protective trumpets of her brothers urging her closer) but it unlocks an instinctive habit deep the fiber of her bone marrow. So she heaves out of the water and heads toward the inner grasslands of her home.
Wound is still slick with seawater when she reaches the gathering and it douses her silver bay body in colors that reflect the dying of the sun. Anxiety immediately winds its skinny, tight fingers around her throat as she approaches those gathered. There have been few to witness her deformities — the misfigured twist of her foreleg, the small but still-bleeding cuts on her heels, the way her skin swells and itches upon contact with the sand — but there will be more still to come.
She positions herself on the outskirts, coffee eyes searching for familiar faces. Her eyes catch on Warrick and a soft smile graces Wound’s face. Their midnight swim had granted her a friend that night, and she is curious to know why he is standing at the head of the meeting. He is beside another winged mare with a look of pride on her face.
Although she knows nothing of politics, she can guess what is happening.
A gentle but sunny smile alights her face when Warrick is named Overseer of Tephra. Her experience with him weeks ago gave him a soft place in her heart and she is overjoyed to know that he now looks after them all. Wound doesn’t say anything, but her eyes go to catch his and the joy that is found there is endless.
The only thing that holds her back is her own insecurity.
She’d spent the day following a particular river of molten lava, enjoying the walk as she wound between overhanging vines and shuffled through burnt charcoal embankments. A day of walking always brought an ache to her joints as the sun began to fall, and so Wound turns her heels for the ocean’s shore. The salt and warm water and constant movement of the tides soothe her bones when her disfigured leg brings forth bouts of aches and pains no one her age should deal with.
Wound finds herself withers-deep in the salty waves when the bellow rings through Tephra. She’s never heard the call of a leader before (aside from the demanding, protective trumpets of her brothers urging her closer) but it unlocks an instinctive habit deep the fiber of her bone marrow. So she heaves out of the water and heads toward the inner grasslands of her home.
Wound is still slick with seawater when she reaches the gathering and it douses her silver bay body in colors that reflect the dying of the sun. Anxiety immediately winds its skinny, tight fingers around her throat as she approaches those gathered. There have been few to witness her deformities — the misfigured twist of her foreleg, the small but still-bleeding cuts on her heels, the way her skin swells and itches upon contact with the sand — but there will be more still to come.
She positions herself on the outskirts, coffee eyes searching for familiar faces. Her eyes catch on Warrick and a soft smile graces Wound’s face. Their midnight swim had granted her a friend that night, and she is curious to know why he is standing at the head of the meeting. He is beside another winged mare with a look of pride on her face.
Although she knows nothing of politics, she can guess what is happening.
A gentle but sunny smile alights her face when Warrick is named Overseer of Tephra. Her experience with him weeks ago gave him a soft place in her heart and she is overjoyed to know that he now looks after them all. Wound doesn’t say anything, but her eyes go to catch his and the joy that is found there is endless.