Lights will lead into the night with me [Zella]

[Oricle]

i counted the stars tonight, i gathered them all

She doesn’t notice the little bird at first; too busy riling herself up over her missing nest. There are noises, more intelligent than that of regular animal noises. She knows those noises, knows that they hold meaning, it’s been over a year since they were directed to her. She would listen as others would come close to her nest and speak in hushed tones of silly things. Like how the world was going to shit, and developing plots to change its course. There were a few times that she almost laughed, wanted to tell them how silly they sounded. They can’t change the world, there is nothing they can do to force anyone or anything to bow to them. The world is its own.

She doesn’t stop to think on what is said to her, she only reacts. The red spotted girl whips her head around gnashing her teeth at nothing in particular, her gangly body following the order of the neck in its unbalanced state. It’s to late stop when the bird that had been out of reach grows larger, changing its shape. This gives her pause, and her silvery eyes look up at the other suspiciously. She’s so small for a two-year-old, thin and delicate, nothing there to show the strength of her will. And how she’s survived this long on it. Watching the shape of the animal change she frowns in concentration. No, this is lost. a nod to where her nest should be, where she had woken from her nightmare. She fell asleep in her meadow, it’s the meadows fault that she isn’t still there tucked safe in her precious nest of pine branches, and berry bushes.

She returns to glaring at the woman, father? That’s a new one for her, what’s a father? Does she have a mother? That is hard to say, she had a mother, a mother who told her that the stars don’t like it when you make them do things. A mother who gave her a meal, so she might survive and left her. Indignant at only god knows what she holds her head up and stares boldly at the other. I have a mother, doesn’t everyone; as if anything could ever be wrong with leaving an infant to fend for themselves. Don’t all mothers do that? The real pride breaker though is when the question of a father burns through her mind, sticking in her throat until she must vomit it out, to her chagrin. What’s a father?

Oricle looks over the woman the scar of her mother’s bite on her shoulder twitching in irritation as it often does when she knows she shouldn’t be talking like this. She looks back to the place that she had woken up in. The filly never liked feeling vulnerable, the adult male whom she had, had words with brought this about in her. Something seemed wrong about him, the way he would look at her, talk to her. As if she wasn’t a filly at all, but some sort of plaything for his amusement. He’d not touched her in that way, but it would have come as no surprise if he had tried. There was just something off about that creature. Then again mother had called her special, had named her to set her apart from the world, and maybe that was what had attracted the unsavory personality. That thing she has that has no definition, but is nicely wrapped up in her name.

Oricle

so will you hold cause time is cold
but in your soul im standing by

@[Caw]