[private] breaking like the waves down on the coastline; velkan

[Velkan]

lost in the dark I’m wandering pretty aimlessly - or, well, it would be aimless if my aim wasn’t to wander. That’s the extent of the goals that I have set out for myself. There’s just too many wonderful things to see and there’s just so much I need to figure out before I can go around setting any other goals. I’ve been wandering for so long now that I’m a professional now. How was I paid, you may ask? My mothers paid me in the years they allowed me to live. So long as I wandered, I wasn’t around for them to torment, to harden and callus the way they had all the rest of my siblings. I mean, it’s pretty dreary stuff but it worked! I’m here now! Currently, I’m in the river. Not beside it like any normal animal would but deep enough that my knees occasionally get wet as I move. I’m practicing my river-walking skills and, from the skinned wounds on my knees, you might be able to guess that I’m not very good at it yet. Certainly no professional. There’s been a small trail of black blood behind me for a while but it’s finally starting to ebb because I’ve finally learned that you should go slow around the big, slippery rocks and not try to jump over them. I don’t exactly have a lot of muscle or fat to cushion any blows. My head is lowered fixedly to just above the surface of the water as I focus very, very intently on where I place my hoof in the next step. I don’t really want to admit how long this goes on for, but I’m pretty thoroughly drenched by the time I take a break and see signs at the bend in the river I’m at that something has recently emerged from the river. Something with hooves. I’m something with hooves but this wasn’t me - maybe a friend though! There’s only one way to find out. Abandoning my painstaking practice, I emerge from the river with a tiny bit more grace than when I entered it. My head is still low, like I’m a bloodhound sniffing a trail, but it’s only because my eyes are about to go cross-ways from focusing so hard that I need to get real close to see the trail of hoofprints among the mud and, later, among the plants. When the grass truly starts to take over and I start to feel like I’m more in a meadow - I lift up my head, wondering what sort of hooved fish could walk this far, and spot someone. A filly! But… well, she looks about as much like a horse as I do, I suppose. Except she’s doing a better job at it because she’s all bright, warm, sunset colours. “Woah!” I can’t help but call out - my voice all bright with youthful enthusiasm. I’d be the worst stalker in the world if I ever wanted to. I can’t not go over and say hello to someone. “You look like the sky!” I take a small step forward, my willingness to make friends driving me forward, but I hesitate while I’m still under the shade of some trees. Will I scare her away if I move out into the sunlight where she can really see what I look like? I hate having that thought, hate that it’s powerful enough to stop me from moving, but once it’s there I can’t get rid of it.

image from unsplash

@[Eva]