11-06-2018, 01:23 PM
So something happened, the words reverberate within her, ricocheting off unstable walls and filling a hollow space. Something happened, but she doesn’t remember it. Not all of it, at least. Fear was her most poignant memory, but it doesn’t have a face. She knows that she had been running away from something, or someone, and that they had been real; she remembers hot breath against her back, teeth snapping at skin, and her heart beating louder than her hooves against the ground. When faced with the decision of swim or die, she had chosen to swim, letting herself be swallowed by the cold waves. It has been almost three years since she first washed up on Beqannas shores, weak and trembling, and with little to no memory of anything that had happened prior. She vaguely remembers her family, but much like the Fear, they don’t have faces; they are simply a feeling, not a memory.
”I don’t remember,” she says in her typical way, speaking in fragments that make sense in her mind but not always when spoken out loud. Much like the nightmare itself, she can’t explain what happened. She can’t explain to him that she runs because in the confusion of sleep it feels real. Of course it wouldn’t make sense to someone like him. These horses of Beqanna, they are not like her. They fight with their words, using tongues like swords, and many of them wield supernatural gifts or possess the physical strength to fight when things blow up. The little mustang is not like them; she reacts before she can talk, escaping through any crack she might find. It would only be with her back against a wall that she would face something and fight.
”It’s not a conscious choice. Running, I mean.” For the first time she shifts away from his touch, slipping out from beneath him. Her body curves so that she may face him, her head tilting to divert her gaze upwards and settle on his own. ”Not everyone is as fearless as you.” But her voice is quiet, the words holding no malice or accusation; she wished she could only be half as bold as the blue stallion.
@[Tunnel]
”I don’t remember,” she says in her typical way, speaking in fragments that make sense in her mind but not always when spoken out loud. Much like the nightmare itself, she can’t explain what happened. She can’t explain to him that she runs because in the confusion of sleep it feels real. Of course it wouldn’t make sense to someone like him. These horses of Beqanna, they are not like her. They fight with their words, using tongues like swords, and many of them wield supernatural gifts or possess the physical strength to fight when things blow up. The little mustang is not like them; she reacts before she can talk, escaping through any crack she might find. It would only be with her back against a wall that she would face something and fight.
”It’s not a conscious choice. Running, I mean.” For the first time she shifts away from his touch, slipping out from beneath him. Her body curves so that she may face him, her head tilting to divert her gaze upwards and settle on his own. ”Not everyone is as fearless as you.” But her voice is quiet, the words holding no malice or accusation; she wished she could only be half as bold as the blue stallion.
briseis.
you’re ripped at every edge but you’re a masterpiece
you’re ripped at every edge but you’re a masterpiece
@[Tunnel]