Sol
09-25-2026, 11:39 AM
What am I supposed to do when I want to talk about peace and understanding
But you only understand the language of violence?
But you only understand the language of violence?
Mountains rose and fell throughout her travels, valleys sunk into the face of the land, deeper and deeper, as if it were a beast who had lost its teeth; she saw much, and spoke very little. Even when the green grass grew tall and yellow, then small and pale, until the ground became sand, and sifting pyramids rose and fell like the mountains she had climbed before. The sand become grass, and the grass grew tall and yellow, then short and green again.
Until it became jungle.
And the jungle became a beach.
Sol stood on the beach for a while, the ocean lapping at her black hooves; the afternoon sun warmed her back, and the wind teased her silvery mane and tail that were quickly becoming matted with grime and sea salt.
She pressed forward, pulling herself slowly, step by step, against the current and the waves. Some horses broke free from the treeline of the jungle; new friends who would now know what she was and hate her for it. Friends who would live in fear from that day on.
Friends who would believe every little bad thing that happened to them would be the result of some curse. A curse she carried to them from that terrible place across the black sea. She rose from the water a giant with a serpent’s head, and they stopped screaming her name. Now they screamed for a different reason entirely. She blinked, her eyelids first and and a clear cap of film slid smoothly across her gold-and-red eyes. She flicked her long, black tongue, tasting the air before the cerulean-scaled monster dove back down into the ocean.
It was time for her to return home—to the Land of the Gods, as outsiders had come to call it. As revered as it was feared.
Sol only knew it as Beqanna.
**
There was much to be seen at the bottom of the sea, but she kept its secrets as well as it kept hers.
She wasn’t sure how long it had taken her to return, time meant nothing to the ocean—and it meant nothing to Beqanna. As soon as she touched its soil again—a great, black-blue beast with sharp death and cold eyes—she felt compelled to return to the only place that had ever felt like home.
Blood always called to blood, after all.
And her family’s blood was smeared for miles across The Chamber.
**
As much as the blood of the little one in front of her.
Of course, Sol was unaware of that. As much as they were unaware of the red-and-gold eyed raven watching them from her pine needled perch. She hopped along the length of the branch, then took to the empty air—and the crows and the other birds and even the other ravens grew silent.
She wasn’t sure why she did it, even now; she soared in sluggish circles, scouting the areas ahead for a danger that would never appear. Twice, she dove down to furiously harass a lone wolf that would have crossed paths with the mare and her child. The second time, she erupted into the size of a creature that was half raven, half prehistoric raptor and she snapped her jaws shut on its tail as it fled.
Bloody-mouthed, the now-mare sneered in the wolf’s wake before she turned to trot back to the last place she spied them. She caught the end of the Queen’s lesson, her ears swiveling forward and her chest clenching tightly; it reminded her of the lessons Nocturnal had given her.
Her mother had abandoned her, though, in the Land of the Gods—and Sol had to find her way through it on her own. “Your mother is right,” Sol said, stepping forward from the dense cover of pine and shadow. “You never know what—or who—is out there, after all.”No Crosses Count x Nocturnal
Until it became jungle.
And the jungle became a beach.
Sol stood on the beach for a while, the ocean lapping at her black hooves; the afternoon sun warmed her back, and the wind teased her silvery mane and tail that were quickly becoming matted with grime and sea salt.
She pressed forward, pulling herself slowly, step by step, against the current and the waves. Some horses broke free from the treeline of the jungle; new friends who would now know what she was and hate her for it. Friends who would live in fear from that day on.
Friends who would believe every little bad thing that happened to them would be the result of some curse. A curse she carried to them from that terrible place across the black sea. She rose from the water a giant with a serpent’s head, and they stopped screaming her name. Now they screamed for a different reason entirely. She blinked, her eyelids first and and a clear cap of film slid smoothly across her gold-and-red eyes. She flicked her long, black tongue, tasting the air before the cerulean-scaled monster dove back down into the ocean.
It was time for her to return home—to the Land of the Gods, as outsiders had come to call it. As revered as it was feared.
Sol only knew it as Beqanna.
**
There was much to be seen at the bottom of the sea, but she kept its secrets as well as it kept hers.
She wasn’t sure how long it had taken her to return, time meant nothing to the ocean—and it meant nothing to Beqanna. As soon as she touched its soil again—a great, black-blue beast with sharp death and cold eyes—she felt compelled to return to the only place that had ever felt like home.
Blood always called to blood, after all.
And her family’s blood was smeared for miles across The Chamber.
**
As much as the blood of the little one in front of her.
Of course, Sol was unaware of that. As much as they were unaware of the red-and-gold eyed raven watching them from her pine needled perch. She hopped along the length of the branch, then took to the empty air—and the crows and the other birds and even the other ravens grew silent.
She wasn’t sure why she did it, even now; she soared in sluggish circles, scouting the areas ahead for a danger that would never appear. Twice, she dove down to furiously harass a lone wolf that would have crossed paths with the mare and her child. The second time, she erupted into the size of a creature that was half raven, half prehistoric raptor and she snapped her jaws shut on its tail as it fled.
Bloody-mouthed, the now-mare sneered in the wolf’s wake before she turned to trot back to the last place she spied them. She caught the end of the Queen’s lesson, her ears swiveling forward and her chest clenching tightly; it reminded her of the lessons Nocturnal had given her.
Her mother had abandoned her, though, in the Land of the Gods—and Sol had to find her way through it on her own. “Your mother is right,” Sol said, stepping forward from the dense cover of pine and shadow. “You never know what—or who—is out there, after all.”
sol