06-16-2019, 05:54 AM
Aodhán
little fire
All that is gold does not glitter; not all who wander are lost
For some time, the arrival of the invisible stallion of his own age does nothing to the now-rock. In fact, the lack of eyes, ears, and pretty much lack of an active conscious mind, prevents him from seeing or hearing anything at all, from noticing so much as the shift in aerial directions, or pressure on the ground. His dormant state noticed barely a thing, and if someone had called the ice-coloured young stallion away, the rock would have been none the wiser.
Only after the arrival of a second presence, something shifts in the near-conscious rock. The presence barely touches him, but for a rock he is pretty sensitive. It is not her shadow blocking the sunlight - such a small difference could not be noticed by the skin of a rock - but the buckskin mare’s golden-like hide (not that he would know the colour right now) emits the warmth of living flesh, and something stirs within the whitewashed stone.
The stirring could well have been a tiny tremor in the earth, if nothing else had happened afterwards. But like with the stretching of a bear’s muscle after a long winter’s hibernation, after some time, the change begins. Cold stone seems to shift, and a sound as if the rock is crumbling to dust would reach the ear of anyone near, except the rock’s ears since his are not yet working.
The tiny pebbles of the former white rock dance, shift and relocate for a moment, and then they take a new shape. Firstly, it seems to resemble a white stony version of the mare herself, almost exactly so. Secondly, the pebbles melt together, and a white horse blinks and twists their ears as if confused, or rather, woken from a very deep, dreamless sleep. A shake of the head loosens the dust that has gathered on the rock over time, and the young horse-shape looks to his legs, makes a disapproving sound, and changes shape and colour once more. White as snow, speckled with metallic gold and snowflakes alike, Aodhán stares at his surroundings, only half-able to grasp what is happening - in fact, searching for someone familiar who doesn’t seem to be around any longer.
She was right though. He is not sick any longer.
After all, the last thing he remembers is drinking some kind of Cure, as she’d called it.
Only after the arrival of a second presence, something shifts in the near-conscious rock. The presence barely touches him, but for a rock he is pretty sensitive. It is not her shadow blocking the sunlight - such a small difference could not be noticed by the skin of a rock - but the buckskin mare’s golden-like hide (not that he would know the colour right now) emits the warmth of living flesh, and something stirs within the whitewashed stone.
The stirring could well have been a tiny tremor in the earth, if nothing else had happened afterwards. But like with the stretching of a bear’s muscle after a long winter’s hibernation, after some time, the change begins. Cold stone seems to shift, and a sound as if the rock is crumbling to dust would reach the ear of anyone near, except the rock’s ears since his are not yet working.
The tiny pebbles of the former white rock dance, shift and relocate for a moment, and then they take a new shape. Firstly, it seems to resemble a white stony version of the mare herself, almost exactly so. Secondly, the pebbles melt together, and a white horse blinks and twists their ears as if confused, or rather, woken from a very deep, dreamless sleep. A shake of the head loosens the dust that has gathered on the rock over time, and the young horse-shape looks to his legs, makes a disapproving sound, and changes shape and colour once more. White as snow, speckled with metallic gold and snowflakes alike, Aodhán stares at his surroundings, only half-able to grasp what is happening - in fact, searching for someone familiar who doesn’t seem to be around any longer.
She was right though. He is not sick any longer.
After all, the last thing he remembers is drinking some kind of Cure, as she’d called it.