05-13-2015, 04:25 PM
The buckskin mare finds herself in Vans' garden today. It is pleasant, quiet and peaceful. She can see the flowers, bursting from their green leafy prisons, blooming with the full zest of the early summer. Beneath the bows of the trees, in their cool dark shade, she finds herself contented. Her eyes flicker open and shut, the weight of the lazy afternoon threatening to shut her eyelids and send her into a wistful slumber. She exhales heavily, velvety nostrils quivering with the sigh. She is utterly at peace.
Too peaceful for a monarch, some may say, but it takes a while to adjust. Pevensie can be very busy, very proactive, but only when it takes her. Of late, she is beginning to feel the heavy ache of her years upon her body. Immortality can keep her bones young, but despite that, her soul feels older than ever. The pressures and responsibility of monarchy have reminded her that she is no longer the four year old who went on an adventure at the whim of a faerie - she is much nearer sixty now. All those years, what were they all for?
She soon find though that she is not alone. Cammie is approaching her now and the buckskin pony makes room for her in the shade of the tree. She smiles a welcoming smile, trying to hide her weariness behind a mask of warmth.
"We must meet more often. I feel like I barely recognise you," she suggests with a little crinkle of a front across her brow. She knows full well that the black mare probably tried to find her before this, and that is it herself whom has been the elusive one of the pair. "How are things with you?" she asks, bringing her muzzle affectionately to nudge her fellow monarch, her once-daughters' side.
Too peaceful for a monarch, some may say, but it takes a while to adjust. Pevensie can be very busy, very proactive, but only when it takes her. Of late, she is beginning to feel the heavy ache of her years upon her body. Immortality can keep her bones young, but despite that, her soul feels older than ever. The pressures and responsibility of monarchy have reminded her that she is no longer the four year old who went on an adventure at the whim of a faerie - she is much nearer sixty now. All those years, what were they all for?
She soon find though that she is not alone. Cammie is approaching her now and the buckskin pony makes room for her in the shade of the tree. She smiles a welcoming smile, trying to hide her weariness behind a mask of warmth.
"We must meet more often. I feel like I barely recognise you," she suggests with a little crinkle of a front across her brow. She knows full well that the black mare probably tried to find her before this, and that is it herself whom has been the elusive one of the pair. "How are things with you?" she asks, bringing her muzzle affectionately to nudge her fellow monarch, her once-daughters' side.