01-21-2018, 01:11 PM
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No sooner has the musty scent of parchment and ink left her nostrils until the world opens again – a dizzying chasm beneath her feet and then suddenly Saedís finds herself confined in a small, strange place. Imprisoned, behind bars of metal and walls of too thick wood. A morsel of panic tugs at her as she looks around, wildly. There are others here too, she notes – strange creatures – clad in rugs and with a strange, unfamiliar smell she cannot place. (It is show-sheen, but Saedís is no more familiar with that smell than the smell of hay and leather and <i>human</i>)
The other horses; dressage-barn-bred and with braided manes and tails, sporting descriptions such as “supple” or “Grand Prix-potential” are much to jaded to pay her much heed. Saedís – cresting her fourth year and still bearing the color of the sky in a storm – gray, with black shadows, desert-bred and all awkward angles looks nothing like the rest of them - who are tack-fitted and at ease behind stall doors. And woe to she who would have to braid Saedís mane – for it would be the bane of combs.
Saedís looks around in bewilderment, she has never seen anything quite like this. The stall to her left is home to a big cart-pulling horse, bright of hair and big of bone and across the narrow corridor stands a mare; mousy-brown and dull but with ribbons of red and blue and dandelion yellow on her door. Before her stall stand two strange, strange creatures on two brittle legs, talking amongst each other. The mousy-mare has won all those halt her ribbons for conformation and now suffers from Lamb-initis, Saedís learns and the mere thought of it terrifies her beyond belief. She wants to scream – beg for someone, <i>anyone</i> to rescue her before she too is turned into a lamb. But she is too terror-stricken to find her words (and part of her guesses that none will come to her aid.) so she just stands there in her prison-cell – a trembling shadow of white and nerves.
The two-legged creatures soon take their leave; bidding them goodnight and leaving only the faint glow of a night lantern – and it is not until then that the stallion-ghost choses to visit her.
He; shadow in the night and would-be savior; abandons description. There are no more words for the line of his serpent-crest, how his long, long mane nearly touches the ground and is reminiscent of the first snow on barren land. His slit-pupil is harsh and black and Saedís shivers a little as she meets those too-dark eyes – there is something eerily familiar with him – and why he smells of earth and pine sap and seasalt – mundane things that reminds her of <i>home</i>. He has the face poets would pen tragic and holds an air of nobility about him.
<i>”Your deeds have never been accomplished and seldom remembered; but I have remembered you”</i> he says; and his voice is of smoke and starlight. <i>”Meet me in the great forest, and I shall make sure you are rewarded for your efforts.” </i>
It is not as if she has a plethora of other options to choose from, and thus Saedís nods her agreement – and perhaps the ghost-pale visitor knows this too – for he gives one last nod of acknowledgment before he makes his departure.
Her opportunity to escape nevertheless, does not present itself until the next morning. She has spent the night banging her hoof against the wood of her stall, testing its strength, trying to figure out a way to break it apart to no avail. Their People-person however, slouching in to the barn early morning, bereft of coffee and tired with worries of Lamb-initis and rehabilitation has not bothered to put on lead-ropes and halters, instead she merely opens the gate in the hopes that the horses will surely long for the sun and dew-fresh grass of their pasture. And she is not incorrect – with the exception of Saedís they all trot obediently down towards their usual field. Saedís – bristling with relief and excitement has positioned herself cleverly behind her colossal neighbor, almost disappearing by his side. His feet are the blue-grey of riverstones, peach-striped. They could fit two apples in a single print and Saedís carefully places her own dainty hooves in the very same prints. She travels with them all the way to the field, but where they all obediently enters the fenced area like a flock of mindless dolts, Saedís stops at the entrance – she figures that their caretaker, with her mere two legs will not be as fast as they, giving Saedís valuable time to bolt down back towards the barn and out on the road before anyone can even know she is gone. Oh, they will search for her no doubt – but she reckons that her carefully forged plan not to leave any prints in the mud will surely set them back enough so that she has a considerable head start. Or so she fiercely hopes. She waits until the caretaker turns out of sight – and then she is a shivering bolt of white lightning – dancing from hoof-print to hoof-print with a fluidity that is startling and beautiful. Her concentration is unbreakable; her focus absolute as she bursts from paddocks and stalls to unfamiliar hills and welcomed freedom. She does not stop until she is certain she is as far away from that horrible prison-place as she possibly can. Her ribcage heaving lightly though she is not very short of breath. Sweat has turned parts of her silver and in this moment she looks more ethereal than not, some ghost-mare with imperfect boundaries and fluctuating translucency. An omen of what is to come, perhaps.
Saedís looks around carefully, half expecting to find someone watching. However, there is no one, and she is left with her solitude and the steam rising from her body in curling ribbons. That night – she sleeps underneath the harsh embrace of an old tree – content in this new world that has bigger smells and brighter trees and the sun isn´t shut away all the time.
The next day, after having spent most of the morning tirelessly trudging ever onward - difficulty again presents itself to her – this time in the form of a river. Honey-yellow shrubs collect along the edge of it, crowding it like hedges. The water is slate-gray and placid, swells circling subtly beneath them. Saedís does not know how to swim – but she is not about to let that tiny detail get in the way of her adventure. She spreads them. She steps in. Rings encircle her storm-sky legs and behind her knees mud tickles. It is tepid there, in the shallows. A muskrat slides in through a hole in the river bank, not two or so paces downriver. A tench’s fin runs against her heels and she is coaxed in. There is, in the center of the river, a place where she can stand with a good portion of her neck above water and so she goes there, quickly and nimbly with the dexterous strokes of an urchin.
Here she drifts as the wind pushes the stone-gray water that is, otherwise, without current – at a loss of what to do next. There is still a considerable amount of space between herself and the riverbank on the other side, and a sudden dread drapes itself over her. Will this really be where her journey ends?
It is then that she hears the voice; it is a child´s voice, a clear, high tenor that calls out her own name.
<i>“Saedis, over here. Look.”</i>
Her head turns towards the sound of the voice – and there, a few steps downriver on the bank stands a pale ghost of a boy. He has a Spartan plume for a tail, white like cabbage butterflies and his shoulder-muscles quiver, out of proportion with how his hipbones jut from each side like airplane wings. He smiles at her and she smiles back.
<i>“Do not tell me that the mare named water-goddess does not know how to swim?”</i> He asks.
There are plums richer than his eye, amber-dark and brimming with a sudden, profound curiosity and Saedís can only shake her head in defeat.
<i>“Well then I suppose it is time that you learn, it is not far left now. Come now – it is not hard, like running, but under water.” </i>
Saedís do not question how he knows her name or the purpose of her journey for he holds that same air of nobility as the creature who had visited her in the barn. Instead she inhales a deep, shaking breath and throws herself headfirst into the deep part of the river. She is a tangled mess of impossibly long legs and sputtering breaths – far from goddess-like and graceful as she desperately struggles to keep her nose above water. The boy on the bank laughs, and there is a streak of darkness in that child´s voice now.
Her mind reels – this is not how she is meant to die, not when she has finally tasted the sweet honey of freedom and adventure. But what had he told her? <i>It is like running, but under water.</i> Saedís struggles for a last, deep breath, seeking to fill her lungs to the brim with air before she dives. Down, down, down, she pushes, until her feet make contact with the ground below and she starts walking. It is a painstakingly slow procedure, and her lungs burn and burn and burn with the lack of air. Fear grapples her as she continues, this is not how I die, she wants to scream. No dark, watery tomb for me. And she is right – for before long she can feel her ears emerge from under the water and she pushes up her nose again, frantically gasping for air, coughing up bouts of river-water until she finally collapses unto the bank. The boy is still there, and he looks down at her with a bemused look in those quizzical eyes.
<i>“Not quite how I would have done it, but atleast you got through. Come on, we must hurry if we are to make it in time.”</i>
Saedís stares at him, and her eyes are the buttons on a velveteen rabbit, dark and frightened and almost hidden by her forelock. She is not sure what to make of the situation – but figuring she has little left to lose, she decides to follow him. She collects her long legs from under her and staggers to her feet; cold and shivering and exhausted. He only gives her another smile as he turns. He has hair like water-lilies, Saedís notes. And his left side stretches with vast savannah gold.
He takes her to the edge of the great forest; and thunder cracks in the distance. Saedís watches; wide-eyed and at a loss for words. Her eyes are no longer so terrified, but neither do they reveal much. Saedís appears fearless now, bold – every bit the adventurer she has crafted herself into. <b>”Who are you?”</b> her question is not rude or demanding. Her tone, rather, is soft, barely audible above the hiss of the wind and thunder. It reveals her sincere curiosity, piqued by the unusual essence of this boy. He doesn´t answer – but takes instead a small step towards a clearing in the middle of the forest made sublime by the last rays of rosy sunlight – and suddenly the boy begins to shift – turning pale and frazzled at the edges – flitting in and out of reality before Saedís wide, wide eyes. First – he turns into a mare; pale white and fleeting like a shadow and Saedís recognizes her as the illusion-mare that made her fall into the strange pages of that book.
<i>Liar!</i> She wants to scream it (and the memories bring fire-hot tears to her eyes), but it is not her own silk-soft voice that shrieks so foreign through her mind, but someone else’s. There is a madness there that settles momentarily, overwhelming the confusion from before and settling storm-dark in her eyes.
The mare has now turned into the ghost-pale stallion that visited her in the barn; and he laughs at her as she keeps staring.
<i>”You wanted an adventure, did you not? I have remembered you, in the steps you have taken and in the shadows of your eyes. I have remembered you through darkness and through light, through weakness and through my own damnable strength. And now there is but one thing you must do for me before you can claim your reward.”</i>
He pauses and her head descends but once in understanding; the meaning is not lost upon her; she will fulfill his task, she will end this adventure – if not only for the curiosity that courses white-hot and turbulent through her blood. She must <i>know</i> the ending to this story. Her story.
<i>”I have a riddle for you.” </i> he begins, and there is no small trace of amusement in his voice.
<i>”Answer it correctly – and glory awaits you on the other side. Get it wrong however”</i> he warns <i>”And you will be sent back to where you came from”</i>
<i>” I can only live where there is light, but I die if the light shines on me. What am I?”</i>
Saedís is quiet. She has no answer to his question, and she can only stare dumbly at the ghost-stallion – with his gale-grace and star sheen as if trying to delve answers from the swirling shadows of his eyes.
Shadows of his eyes.
Of course, that´s it – she triumphantly realizes.
<b>”You are a shadow!</b> she whispers; struck with awe and sudden anxiety. But she needn´t worry – for he smiles again that strange, foreboding smile and nods in acknowledgment.
He then taps one hoof – and Saedís can feel something strange change within her. The tang of magic fills her nostrils and from her sleek-white forehead – a large, spiraled horn now grows, and her fetlocks have turned feathered and pale. He takes a step to the side then; seemingly content with his work – and urges her onward to explore this new, strange place, and her new strange body.
In the distance – thunder cracks again.
<font size=14pt><center> SAEDÌS</font>
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Word count: 2.415
1st obstacle: escaping the barn
2nd obstacle: crossing the river
3rd obstacle: answering the riddle
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No sooner has the musty scent of parchment and ink left her nostrils until the world opens again – a dizzying chasm beneath her feet and then suddenly Saedís finds herself confined in a small, strange place. Imprisoned, behind bars of metal and walls of too thick wood. A morsel of panic tugs at her as she looks around, wildly. There are others here too, she notes – strange creatures – clad in rugs and with a strange, unfamiliar smell she cannot place. (It is show-sheen, but Saedís is no more familiar with that smell than the smell of hay and leather and <i>human</i>)
The other horses; dressage-barn-bred and with braided manes and tails, sporting descriptions such as “supple” or “Grand Prix-potential” are much to jaded to pay her much heed. Saedís – cresting her fourth year and still bearing the color of the sky in a storm – gray, with black shadows, desert-bred and all awkward angles looks nothing like the rest of them - who are tack-fitted and at ease behind stall doors. And woe to she who would have to braid Saedís mane – for it would be the bane of combs.
Saedís looks around in bewilderment, she has never seen anything quite like this. The stall to her left is home to a big cart-pulling horse, bright of hair and big of bone and across the narrow corridor stands a mare; mousy-brown and dull but with ribbons of red and blue and dandelion yellow on her door. Before her stall stand two strange, strange creatures on two brittle legs, talking amongst each other. The mousy-mare has won all those halt her ribbons for conformation and now suffers from Lamb-initis, Saedís learns and the mere thought of it terrifies her beyond belief. She wants to scream – beg for someone, <i>anyone</i> to rescue her before she too is turned into a lamb. But she is too terror-stricken to find her words (and part of her guesses that none will come to her aid.) so she just stands there in her prison-cell – a trembling shadow of white and nerves.
The two-legged creatures soon take their leave; bidding them goodnight and leaving only the faint glow of a night lantern – and it is not until then that the stallion-ghost choses to visit her.
He; shadow in the night and would-be savior; abandons description. There are no more words for the line of his serpent-crest, how his long, long mane nearly touches the ground and is reminiscent of the first snow on barren land. His slit-pupil is harsh and black and Saedís shivers a little as she meets those too-dark eyes – there is something eerily familiar with him – and why he smells of earth and pine sap and seasalt – mundane things that reminds her of <i>home</i>. He has the face poets would pen tragic and holds an air of nobility about him.
<i>”Your deeds have never been accomplished and seldom remembered; but I have remembered you”</i> he says; and his voice is of smoke and starlight. <i>”Meet me in the great forest, and I shall make sure you are rewarded for your efforts.” </i>
It is not as if she has a plethora of other options to choose from, and thus Saedís nods her agreement – and perhaps the ghost-pale visitor knows this too – for he gives one last nod of acknowledgment before he makes his departure.
Her opportunity to escape nevertheless, does not present itself until the next morning. She has spent the night banging her hoof against the wood of her stall, testing its strength, trying to figure out a way to break it apart to no avail. Their People-person however, slouching in to the barn early morning, bereft of coffee and tired with worries of Lamb-initis and rehabilitation has not bothered to put on lead-ropes and halters, instead she merely opens the gate in the hopes that the horses will surely long for the sun and dew-fresh grass of their pasture. And she is not incorrect – with the exception of Saedís they all trot obediently down towards their usual field. Saedís – bristling with relief and excitement has positioned herself cleverly behind her colossal neighbor, almost disappearing by his side. His feet are the blue-grey of riverstones, peach-striped. They could fit two apples in a single print and Saedís carefully places her own dainty hooves in the very same prints. She travels with them all the way to the field, but where they all obediently enters the fenced area like a flock of mindless dolts, Saedís stops at the entrance – she figures that their caretaker, with her mere two legs will not be as fast as they, giving Saedís valuable time to bolt down back towards the barn and out on the road before anyone can even know she is gone. Oh, they will search for her no doubt – but she reckons that her carefully forged plan not to leave any prints in the mud will surely set them back enough so that she has a considerable head start. Or so she fiercely hopes. She waits until the caretaker turns out of sight – and then she is a shivering bolt of white lightning – dancing from hoof-print to hoof-print with a fluidity that is startling and beautiful. Her concentration is unbreakable; her focus absolute as she bursts from paddocks and stalls to unfamiliar hills and welcomed freedom. She does not stop until she is certain she is as far away from that horrible prison-place as she possibly can. Her ribcage heaving lightly though she is not very short of breath. Sweat has turned parts of her silver and in this moment she looks more ethereal than not, some ghost-mare with imperfect boundaries and fluctuating translucency. An omen of what is to come, perhaps.
Saedís looks around carefully, half expecting to find someone watching. However, there is no one, and she is left with her solitude and the steam rising from her body in curling ribbons. That night – she sleeps underneath the harsh embrace of an old tree – content in this new world that has bigger smells and brighter trees and the sun isn´t shut away all the time.
The next day, after having spent most of the morning tirelessly trudging ever onward - difficulty again presents itself to her – this time in the form of a river. Honey-yellow shrubs collect along the edge of it, crowding it like hedges. The water is slate-gray and placid, swells circling subtly beneath them. Saedís does not know how to swim – but she is not about to let that tiny detail get in the way of her adventure. She spreads them. She steps in. Rings encircle her storm-sky legs and behind her knees mud tickles. It is tepid there, in the shallows. A muskrat slides in through a hole in the river bank, not two or so paces downriver. A tench’s fin runs against her heels and she is coaxed in. There is, in the center of the river, a place where she can stand with a good portion of her neck above water and so she goes there, quickly and nimbly with the dexterous strokes of an urchin.
Here she drifts as the wind pushes the stone-gray water that is, otherwise, without current – at a loss of what to do next. There is still a considerable amount of space between herself and the riverbank on the other side, and a sudden dread drapes itself over her. Will this really be where her journey ends?
It is then that she hears the voice; it is a child´s voice, a clear, high tenor that calls out her own name.
<i>“Saedis, over here. Look.”</i>
Her head turns towards the sound of the voice – and there, a few steps downriver on the bank stands a pale ghost of a boy. He has a Spartan plume for a tail, white like cabbage butterflies and his shoulder-muscles quiver, out of proportion with how his hipbones jut from each side like airplane wings. He smiles at her and she smiles back.
<i>“Do not tell me that the mare named water-goddess does not know how to swim?”</i> He asks.
There are plums richer than his eye, amber-dark and brimming with a sudden, profound curiosity and Saedís can only shake her head in defeat.
<i>“Well then I suppose it is time that you learn, it is not far left now. Come now – it is not hard, like running, but under water.” </i>
Saedís do not question how he knows her name or the purpose of her journey for he holds that same air of nobility as the creature who had visited her in the barn. Instead she inhales a deep, shaking breath and throws herself headfirst into the deep part of the river. She is a tangled mess of impossibly long legs and sputtering breaths – far from goddess-like and graceful as she desperately struggles to keep her nose above water. The boy on the bank laughs, and there is a streak of darkness in that child´s voice now.
Her mind reels – this is not how she is meant to die, not when she has finally tasted the sweet honey of freedom and adventure. But what had he told her? <i>It is like running, but under water.</i> Saedís struggles for a last, deep breath, seeking to fill her lungs to the brim with air before she dives. Down, down, down, she pushes, until her feet make contact with the ground below and she starts walking. It is a painstakingly slow procedure, and her lungs burn and burn and burn with the lack of air. Fear grapples her as she continues, this is not how I die, she wants to scream. No dark, watery tomb for me. And she is right – for before long she can feel her ears emerge from under the water and she pushes up her nose again, frantically gasping for air, coughing up bouts of river-water until she finally collapses unto the bank. The boy is still there, and he looks down at her with a bemused look in those quizzical eyes.
<i>“Not quite how I would have done it, but atleast you got through. Come on, we must hurry if we are to make it in time.”</i>
Saedís stares at him, and her eyes are the buttons on a velveteen rabbit, dark and frightened and almost hidden by her forelock. She is not sure what to make of the situation – but figuring she has little left to lose, she decides to follow him. She collects her long legs from under her and staggers to her feet; cold and shivering and exhausted. He only gives her another smile as he turns. He has hair like water-lilies, Saedís notes. And his left side stretches with vast savannah gold.
He takes her to the edge of the great forest; and thunder cracks in the distance. Saedís watches; wide-eyed and at a loss for words. Her eyes are no longer so terrified, but neither do they reveal much. Saedís appears fearless now, bold – every bit the adventurer she has crafted herself into. <b>”Who are you?”</b> her question is not rude or demanding. Her tone, rather, is soft, barely audible above the hiss of the wind and thunder. It reveals her sincere curiosity, piqued by the unusual essence of this boy. He doesn´t answer – but takes instead a small step towards a clearing in the middle of the forest made sublime by the last rays of rosy sunlight – and suddenly the boy begins to shift – turning pale and frazzled at the edges – flitting in and out of reality before Saedís wide, wide eyes. First – he turns into a mare; pale white and fleeting like a shadow and Saedís recognizes her as the illusion-mare that made her fall into the strange pages of that book.
<i>Liar!</i> She wants to scream it (and the memories bring fire-hot tears to her eyes), but it is not her own silk-soft voice that shrieks so foreign through her mind, but someone else’s. There is a madness there that settles momentarily, overwhelming the confusion from before and settling storm-dark in her eyes.
The mare has now turned into the ghost-pale stallion that visited her in the barn; and he laughs at her as she keeps staring.
<i>”You wanted an adventure, did you not? I have remembered you, in the steps you have taken and in the shadows of your eyes. I have remembered you through darkness and through light, through weakness and through my own damnable strength. And now there is but one thing you must do for me before you can claim your reward.”</i>
He pauses and her head descends but once in understanding; the meaning is not lost upon her; she will fulfill his task, she will end this adventure – if not only for the curiosity that courses white-hot and turbulent through her blood. She must <i>know</i> the ending to this story. Her story.
<i>”I have a riddle for you.” </i> he begins, and there is no small trace of amusement in his voice.
<i>”Answer it correctly – and glory awaits you on the other side. Get it wrong however”</i> he warns <i>”And you will be sent back to where you came from”</i>
<i>” I can only live where there is light, but I die if the light shines on me. What am I?”</i>
Saedís is quiet. She has no answer to his question, and she can only stare dumbly at the ghost-stallion – with his gale-grace and star sheen as if trying to delve answers from the swirling shadows of his eyes.
Shadows of his eyes.
Of course, that´s it – she triumphantly realizes.
<b>”You are a shadow!</b> she whispers; struck with awe and sudden anxiety. But she needn´t worry – for he smiles again that strange, foreboding smile and nods in acknowledgment.
He then taps one hoof – and Saedís can feel something strange change within her. The tang of magic fills her nostrils and from her sleek-white forehead – a large, spiraled horn now grows, and her fetlocks have turned feathered and pale. He takes a step to the side then; seemingly content with his work – and urges her onward to explore this new, strange place, and her new strange body.
In the distance – thunder cracks again.
<font size=14pt><center> SAEDÌS</font>
<center></table></center>
Word count: 2.415
1st obstacle: escaping the barn
2nd obstacle: crossing the river
3rd obstacle: answering the riddle