03-03-2017, 01:45 AM
She had been born and raised in a world of seasons, where autumn came and went and took with it the shades of dawn and perpetual fire. But autumn never ended in Sylva. The trees were always filled with burnt leaves – etched in brilliant golds and oranges and reds, held captive at the edge of a fragile life but never allowed the freedom of death. It was beautiful, certainly, to live in and among so much color. But she missed the changing of the seasons, missed winter most of all.
So she slips easily past the boundaries of Sylva, disappearing unnoticed beneath the trees and in the cloak of their swaying shadows. Her mind isn’t on where her feet carry her, instead it traces the reasons for the weight in her face, the hollows in those quiet, blue cheeks. Her thoughts are an endless loop of uncertainty, reluctant fingers grasping at unraveling threads. She would understand it if she wanted to, but some part of her mind protects the rest, keeps her from piecing together the things that will feel like stones rattling in a bruised chest.
At some point the leafy deciduous trees gave way to bare branches like skeletal fingers, coated in frost and ice and a thin crust of snow. She didn’t notice though, not until the snowflakes began to fall and coat her mane and her forelock, fill those delicate hollows near the curve of her hips. Her face softens and her eyes flit upwards from the ground – a ground that had turned white and gleaming while those busy eyes had been pulled inward and uncertain. But the cold feels like a kiss on her nose, sharp and welcome and she lifts that delicate face in quiet relief.
It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust, to fall against and trace the nearest trees, the snowy beach, the sheet of crumbling ice that tries to contain the waves of the lake. It takes another moment after that to recognize that she can see the small stretch of shore on which she had stood when the black and bone-armored stallion had found and buried his teeth in her. She shudders before she can stop herself, uncomfortable and uneasy, slipping back into the deep shadow of the trees where she can effectively camouflage herself from prying eyes. An owl hoots and she flinches again, reflexive, uncertain, and wholly unable to pry her eyes from the distant shore.
Hello there. A voice says, friendly and bright, and Luster is so startled as she turns to look behind her that the illusion of her shadow falls completely away. Headed somewhere? The eyes that find her are eager and green, and when Luster searches them openly, hesitantly, she finds no excuse to barb herself in shadows again. “Hello.” She says instead, turning, softening, reaching out to touch her nose to the striking green star on the mares steely forehead in a quiet, curious greeting. “I think I must be, I’m just not sure where.” Her voice is soft, silver like stars, like constellations, and she pulls her nose back, tucking her chin close to her chest. “Anywhere but here would be good,” she amends quietly after a moment, glancing back to the lake with eyes that are dark and uncertain and bruised with worry, “care to walk with me?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer, cannot wait another moment lest her nerves crawl like spiders out of her skin. But before she turns she touches her nose to the mares neck again, gentle and unassuming, pressing that small, uncertain smile into a grey that reminded her of steel-bellied clouds. “I’d love the company.” Softer, and with a smile that fades just a little, “My name is Luster.” She turns then, away from the beach, away from the lake, and if the grey mare is watching she will see the pink smoothness of scar tissue in the hollow of Luster’s murky blue neck, the only indication of the bruises in her eyes and the urgent need to be anywhere, anywhere else.
So she slips easily past the boundaries of Sylva, disappearing unnoticed beneath the trees and in the cloak of their swaying shadows. Her mind isn’t on where her feet carry her, instead it traces the reasons for the weight in her face, the hollows in those quiet, blue cheeks. Her thoughts are an endless loop of uncertainty, reluctant fingers grasping at unraveling threads. She would understand it if she wanted to, but some part of her mind protects the rest, keeps her from piecing together the things that will feel like stones rattling in a bruised chest.
At some point the leafy deciduous trees gave way to bare branches like skeletal fingers, coated in frost and ice and a thin crust of snow. She didn’t notice though, not until the snowflakes began to fall and coat her mane and her forelock, fill those delicate hollows near the curve of her hips. Her face softens and her eyes flit upwards from the ground – a ground that had turned white and gleaming while those busy eyes had been pulled inward and uncertain. But the cold feels like a kiss on her nose, sharp and welcome and she lifts that delicate face in quiet relief.
It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust, to fall against and trace the nearest trees, the snowy beach, the sheet of crumbling ice that tries to contain the waves of the lake. It takes another moment after that to recognize that she can see the small stretch of shore on which she had stood when the black and bone-armored stallion had found and buried his teeth in her. She shudders before she can stop herself, uncomfortable and uneasy, slipping back into the deep shadow of the trees where she can effectively camouflage herself from prying eyes. An owl hoots and she flinches again, reflexive, uncertain, and wholly unable to pry her eyes from the distant shore.
Hello there. A voice says, friendly and bright, and Luster is so startled as she turns to look behind her that the illusion of her shadow falls completely away. Headed somewhere? The eyes that find her are eager and green, and when Luster searches them openly, hesitantly, she finds no excuse to barb herself in shadows again. “Hello.” She says instead, turning, softening, reaching out to touch her nose to the striking green star on the mares steely forehead in a quiet, curious greeting. “I think I must be, I’m just not sure where.” Her voice is soft, silver like stars, like constellations, and she pulls her nose back, tucking her chin close to her chest. “Anywhere but here would be good,” she amends quietly after a moment, glancing back to the lake with eyes that are dark and uncertain and bruised with worry, “care to walk with me?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer, cannot wait another moment lest her nerves crawl like spiders out of her skin. But before she turns she touches her nose to the mares neck again, gentle and unassuming, pressing that small, uncertain smile into a grey that reminded her of steel-bellied clouds. “I’d love the company.” Softer, and with a smile that fades just a little, “My name is Luster.” She turns then, away from the beach, away from the lake, and if the grey mare is watching she will see the pink smoothness of scar tissue in the hollow of Luster’s murky blue neck, the only indication of the bruises in her eyes and the urgent need to be anywhere, anywhere else.