05-09-2018, 09:32 PM
There is a hard cold knot of something buried deep in my chest. It had taken root during my last conversation with Arthas, and while it has not grown (I will not let it), neither has it become any easier to bear. It is easiest to ignore when I am weary, I have found. This has led to days spent running, darting through the copper forest and leaping over the rocky outcroppings. It is a miracle I have not yet broken a leg, though at times I wonder if that pain might not distract me all the better.
No, best not to venture down that path of thought. It's too easy to get lost there.
I have just finished such a run, and the heat steams from my golden skin as I walk through the shallow snow. I run farther each day, and the last vestiges of my childish figure have slipped away as Sylva has sunk deeper into winter. I am now a mare grown, and at times I hardly recognize my reflection when I drink from the icy streams.
I see movement from the corner of my eye and freeze, only my flicking ears and flaring blue nostrils moving to identify the source. There, a bit downwind, is a dark stallion. I think at first it is Modicum Mortem, and debate the advantages of continuing to move away. He is useful when it comes to distraction, but conversation with him is a reminder of why I am here, and I am not quite in the mood for that.
But no, it's not the king at all. It's Jesper, who I have not seen since the announcement of his captivity. He has been kept busy by the other residents of the forest, I've assumed, and as I move close I can see the effect they can have on him.
Only when I am standing directly in front of him do I realize that I do not know what to say to him. I can't very well ask if he is enjoying his time in Sylva. My lessons had been in social niceties, not in addressing prisoners. I settle for a "Hello," though it sounds a bit forced from my unsmiling blue mouth
No, best not to venture down that path of thought. It's too easy to get lost there.
I have just finished such a run, and the heat steams from my golden skin as I walk through the shallow snow. I run farther each day, and the last vestiges of my childish figure have slipped away as Sylva has sunk deeper into winter. I am now a mare grown, and at times I hardly recognize my reflection when I drink from the icy streams.
I see movement from the corner of my eye and freeze, only my flicking ears and flaring blue nostrils moving to identify the source. There, a bit downwind, is a dark stallion. I think at first it is Modicum Mortem, and debate the advantages of continuing to move away. He is useful when it comes to distraction, but conversation with him is a reminder of why I am here, and I am not quite in the mood for that.
But no, it's not the king at all. It's Jesper, who I have not seen since the announcement of his captivity. He has been kept busy by the other residents of the forest, I've assumed, and as I move close I can see the effect they can have on him.
Only when I am standing directly in front of him do I realize that I do not know what to say to him. I can't very well ask if he is enjoying his time in Sylva. My lessons had been in social niceties, not in addressing prisoners. I settle for a "Hello," though it sounds a bit forced from my unsmiling blue mouth
