And inside you're burning
with some secret yearning
The dying sunlight stretches across amber grasses of the late autumn meadow, staining the earth in shades of red and gold. The day has begun to give way to the night, and the creatures who live amongst its shadowy reaches have begun to stir themselves. Creatures that include the a mare of red and blue who calls the night her own. Her lithe figure makes a path through the golden waves, the late sunlight gleaming on her burnished coat, highlighting the bright, glimmering teal of her shifting locks, touching her lips, her long, slender legs. But she is paying little attention to her surroundings, to the the fellow equines that may or may not share the vast space with her, to the glorious sunset.
No, she is too caught up in the power that floods her veins. The power that had been so callously stolen from her, that had been just as carelessly returned to her. For the first time in what feels like years, she can truly breath. A heavy weight lifted from her slender shoulders, a terrible burden taken so easily from her. How anyone could consider these traits, these gifts, a burden, she cannot fathom.
To her, it had always been life. She is a creature of the stars, and she has been given back to them.
The smile that curves her lips as she makes her way steadily across the meadow is lovely, intriguing and beautiful in a way difficult to define. It is not her fine features or slim frame, assets that, while attractive enough, are otherwise rather ordinary. No, it is the mien, the aura, that hovers perpetually around her. Something ephemeral and elusive, indefinable. There is clear enjoyment in her features. Something in the way that she relishes the sun, knowing it would so soon give way to night, to the expansive, exquisite display of stars. Her stars.
So it should come as no surprise that it takes her a few moments to notice the lion lounging leisurely on a bolder only a short distance away from her. The sudden awareness should be alarming, but she can only find it within herself to offer faint curiosity. No, what intrigues her more is the way he cleans his paws, rough, lapping tongue wiping away every trace of blood that the still lingers. The telltale bones resting so close, a picture worth a thousand words.
Slipping closer, she pauses near the bones, inspecting them with open interest before turning, easing closer to the shaggy lion. Her bright silvery gaze moves over him, briefly touching every inch of the massive cat, no fear evident in her bearing. Despite appearances, she is far from powerless. And this cat, he exudes an aura of satisfaction, of interest. Nothing dangerous, but definitely intriguing.
“You missed a spot,” she finally says by way of greeting, her voice low and smooth, as she indicates one wide paw with an elegant motion. One can almost discern a faint, rusty discoloration there. So faint in fact, one might even question whether it was there at all, or whether she were simply saying so.
Lirren