04-06-2021, 03:19 PM
The light that meets the dark
Cheri remembered where she’d been when the world went black; she could never forget it. Now, she’ll get to remember exactly where she was when the sunlight returned again and the dawn of a new hope rose over Beqanna.
In the Forest, trailing lightly with sad, solemn steps between maple trunks and oak leaves, Cheri froze with the world. Every living creature seemed to still, holding their breath together even if they weren’t sure why, and in her heart she admitted to being afraid. She thought it had finally come, and then stumbled back in confusion when the opposite happened. Their world did not end as she’d expected it would; merely, the moon slid away from her soulmate in the sky and the sun beamed down from the heavens again, washing everything in its glorious light like a harsh dream come true.
The world exhaled, and with it Cheri let a wild cry of stunned joy fly free from her dark mouth.
Winds it was beautiful. The way her eyes burned and squinted, how quickly the warmth stroked her fur and left her hungry for more, so that she was suddenly moving at a trot, a canter, a wild gallop without care. She laughed, brazenly struck by the blueness she missed up above, peeking out from the canopy of still-dead tree limbs. She flung her head back against the wind and skipped prettily through the wood, renewed by the energy and the realization that her mother should be home… maybe… maybe Lilliana, too?
And a journey that should’ve winded her now seemed short-lived. She only had to leap and unfurl her wings when she reached the river, and Cheri glided above the murmuring whitecaps before flapping down on the opposite shore with a very unladylike snort. Her wings folded in on themselves happily enough; the now two-year-old mare had little use of them in the dark. Pacing in contemplation of where to go first, she listened for a moment and heard a sound that now was possibly the sweetest she’d ever heard, save one: the sound of chirping in the air, of birds already calling out hesitantly for a mate.
Her heart knew exactly where it wanted to be at this moment, and without hesitation she flicked her wings open again — soreness be damned.
The exhaustive rest afterwards would be well-worth the reward of flying quickly to her favorite meadow. Cheri bent herself into a coiled stance, rearing steadily as the great feathers made of pure light fluttered and swept her up, and from there she followed the line of sentient evergreens at Taiga’s border until she was above them all, flying steadily through the redwood crowns she couldn’t match in height. Down below her, the ugly truth of what the dark had hidden became painfully clear: Taiga was a bare and barren herdland now, save for the very few spots Borderline and Memorie had worked tirelessly to save. She looked up and around, at the smoke still billowing like black tar from Nerine’s bonfire, and saw that the destruction had been far-reaching.
Beqanna was scarred, but she was not dead. Not yet.
There was hope in her yet, magic and the good of a few horses willing to risk everything for their fellow equines. Cheri felt tears stinging her eyes as the forest cleared beneath her, revealing the largest meadow in all of Taiga, but she brushed them away with the shy tips of her lashes and descended from the sky. There was another horse already occupying the territory, and she wouldn’t be caught dead with girlish tears staining her cheeks even if it was the best reason in the world to cry. Cheri would rather not be seen as that helpless filly she once was before, the naive little horse who went to the Mountain of the Fey and woke up as a ghost on the Beach. Beautiful, charming, soft around the edges perhaps… but not weak.
“Can you believe it!” She shouted at the stallion who’d been walking before she came down. Her eyes were like springtime when they landed on Targaryen, rich with new life, but she hadn’t yet recognized that it was him. “Isn’t it wonderful?” She laughed breathlessly.
And then the winds shifted their dance. Cheri lifted her ears and her smile fell, but not with sadness. She was shocked by the tangy scent carried her way in the breeze, struck by how velvety Targaryen’s emerald green pelt looked in the glancing rays of heavenly light, and it stopped her dead in her tracks. Her heart seized at once, and then (thinking better of it) started again with alarming speed. She swallowed the pebble of fear lodged in her throat, determined to make good on the promise of not being weak (no matter how her knees felt right now), and spoke his name as a question.
“Targaryen?”
In the Forest, trailing lightly with sad, solemn steps between maple trunks and oak leaves, Cheri froze with the world. Every living creature seemed to still, holding their breath together even if they weren’t sure why, and in her heart she admitted to being afraid. She thought it had finally come, and then stumbled back in confusion when the opposite happened. Their world did not end as she’d expected it would; merely, the moon slid away from her soulmate in the sky and the sun beamed down from the heavens again, washing everything in its glorious light like a harsh dream come true.
The world exhaled, and with it Cheri let a wild cry of stunned joy fly free from her dark mouth.
Winds it was beautiful. The way her eyes burned and squinted, how quickly the warmth stroked her fur and left her hungry for more, so that she was suddenly moving at a trot, a canter, a wild gallop without care. She laughed, brazenly struck by the blueness she missed up above, peeking out from the canopy of still-dead tree limbs. She flung her head back against the wind and skipped prettily through the wood, renewed by the energy and the realization that her mother should be home… maybe… maybe Lilliana, too?
And a journey that should’ve winded her now seemed short-lived. She only had to leap and unfurl her wings when she reached the river, and Cheri glided above the murmuring whitecaps before flapping down on the opposite shore with a very unladylike snort. Her wings folded in on themselves happily enough; the now two-year-old mare had little use of them in the dark. Pacing in contemplation of where to go first, she listened for a moment and heard a sound that now was possibly the sweetest she’d ever heard, save one: the sound of chirping in the air, of birds already calling out hesitantly for a mate.
Her heart knew exactly where it wanted to be at this moment, and without hesitation she flicked her wings open again — soreness be damned.
The exhaustive rest afterwards would be well-worth the reward of flying quickly to her favorite meadow. Cheri bent herself into a coiled stance, rearing steadily as the great feathers made of pure light fluttered and swept her up, and from there she followed the line of sentient evergreens at Taiga’s border until she was above them all, flying steadily through the redwood crowns she couldn’t match in height. Down below her, the ugly truth of what the dark had hidden became painfully clear: Taiga was a bare and barren herdland now, save for the very few spots Borderline and Memorie had worked tirelessly to save. She looked up and around, at the smoke still billowing like black tar from Nerine’s bonfire, and saw that the destruction had been far-reaching.
Beqanna was scarred, but she was not dead. Not yet.
There was hope in her yet, magic and the good of a few horses willing to risk everything for their fellow equines. Cheri felt tears stinging her eyes as the forest cleared beneath her, revealing the largest meadow in all of Taiga, but she brushed them away with the shy tips of her lashes and descended from the sky. There was another horse already occupying the territory, and she wouldn’t be caught dead with girlish tears staining her cheeks even if it was the best reason in the world to cry. Cheri would rather not be seen as that helpless filly she once was before, the naive little horse who went to the Mountain of the Fey and woke up as a ghost on the Beach. Beautiful, charming, soft around the edges perhaps… but not weak.
“Can you believe it!” She shouted at the stallion who’d been walking before she came down. Her eyes were like springtime when they landed on Targaryen, rich with new life, but she hadn’t yet recognized that it was him. “Isn’t it wonderful?” She laughed breathlessly.
And then the winds shifted their dance. Cheri lifted her ears and her smile fell, but not with sadness. She was shocked by the tangy scent carried her way in the breeze, struck by how velvety Targaryen’s emerald green pelt looked in the glancing rays of heavenly light, and it stopped her dead in her tracks. Her heart seized at once, and then (thinking better of it) started again with alarming speed. She swallowed the pebble of fear lodged in her throat, determined to make good on the promise of not being weak (no matter how her knees felt right now), and spoke his name as a question.
“Targaryen?”
@[Targaryen]