[private] wearing their iron masks like a shield; Brine

[Brine]

brine

she lost her light, it's easier to hide
that way

Brine has never pushed herself physically. There are risks involved with reckless exercise: sprains, muscle tears, God knows what else. Things Brine cannot afford, incase something were to happen. She had to preserve her energy for when she needed it, like in the event a cougar attacked or a savage stallion came to fruition, again.

The thought is shot down almost as quick as it resurfaces, her mind desperately picking at anything else to focus on.

Ah, yes. Her girl. Her light. Her everything. Brine sees Ruth, probably not how she looks now but how she remembers her, yes. Yes, she is beautiful, her child. The golden tones and creamy-white hair that strung down in wind knots. Ruthless, the only form of light in Brine’s dark and twisty soul, would be turning two soon.

Brine pictures her with her dark wings--the only resemblance that ties them together--and intense brown eyes, so big and so pure.

A little bit of her melts, despite the grueling temperatures.

And then, she feels her feet slide to the left.

Whoops!

Brine takes a moment to gather herself--coaxing her soul back into her body with compliments and soft tones--before wildly spinning her head to stare at the source of the collision, a red roaned mare with vibrant white splotches and striking bone armour that makes Brine contemplate fear and admiration.

She, of course, chooses fear.

“Oh,” she is also catching her breath, feeling light headed and more than nervous about the other girl. Did she do that on purpose? Is this some form of hazing? Does she need to survive torture from the boned girl to be accepted? “Oh, it’s fine. It’s fine. I was lost in thought anyways…”

And slowly, she steps back three times; preparation to run.