04-09-2021, 05:34 PM
Moira had spent the morning gathering shells for her Grandmother. She is the best shell finder, Grandmother has told her, she finds the pinkest and the orangest and the reddest shells. Moira has the fish to help her, the constant burbling of their voices telling her where to find the next colorful treasure. Grandmother had promised to take her to the Commons if she found enough, and Moira had gathered more than enough by noon.
“Tell me your wish,” the little dun mare says, smiling when young Moira asks to be the prettiest in all the land. She’ll probably regret it when she is older, but Djinni is not in the business of teaching lessons - only of granting wishes and spoiling her grandchildren.
The genie places a gentle kiss on the grulla filly’s forehead as she leaves her in the Meadow, meandering away down the wide sunny path on the errands of the very old and nosey.
Moira gallops toward the nearest water, eager to see if her wish has been granted.
The creek is rippling and her reflection is not clear, but the green-eyed filly stares down at it intently for some time. Yes, she decides with a little nod, yes, Grandmother had in fact made her prettier. The little minnows in the water chortle their agreement in silvery voices
Next time she’ll wish to be the most best warrior in Ischia, and her heart thrills at the idea. Moira wheels and kicks, lashing out with her hind legs. The semi-translucent fins that grows from her thighs to her fetlocks shine in the bright sunlight, and when she rears and kicks out the matching ones on her front legs, sides, and spine all but glow in the bright noonday sun.
Distracted by her joyful prancing, Moira has not paid much attention to her surroundings. Now she pauses, her breathing quick, and looks around. She’s still in the meadow, the wide stretch of grass stretching around her. It’s more grass than she’s ever seen in one place, and she thinks that perhaps ten hundred horses might graze here and never be hungry. Wonderstruck, she takes in the word around her with amazement.
“Tell me your wish,” the little dun mare says, smiling when young Moira asks to be the prettiest in all the land. She’ll probably regret it when she is older, but Djinni is not in the business of teaching lessons - only of granting wishes and spoiling her grandchildren.
The genie places a gentle kiss on the grulla filly’s forehead as she leaves her in the Meadow, meandering away down the wide sunny path on the errands of the very old and nosey.
Moira gallops toward the nearest water, eager to see if her wish has been granted.
The creek is rippling and her reflection is not clear, but the green-eyed filly stares down at it intently for some time. Yes, she decides with a little nod, yes, Grandmother had in fact made her prettier. The little minnows in the water chortle their agreement in silvery voices
Next time she’ll wish to be the most best warrior in Ischia, and her heart thrills at the idea. Moira wheels and kicks, lashing out with her hind legs. The semi-translucent fins that grows from her thighs to her fetlocks shine in the bright sunlight, and when she rears and kicks out the matching ones on her front legs, sides, and spine all but glow in the bright noonday sun.
Distracted by her joyful prancing, Moira has not paid much attention to her surroundings. Now she pauses, her breathing quick, and looks around. She’s still in the meadow, the wide stretch of grass stretching around her. It’s more grass than she’s ever seen in one place, and she thinks that perhaps ten hundred horses might graze here and never be hungry. Wonderstruck, she takes in the word around her with amazement.