sochi/laura pony;

[sochi]

there is a swelling storm and I'm caught up in the middle of it all
and it takes control of the person that I thought I was

Recently, Sochi has found herself spending an increasing amount of time alone.

She has not minded the silence. She has not minded the isolation. It has been a time for her to sink into the own inner workings of her mind, navigating the tunnels of it in ways that allow her to unpack it, that allow her to truly understand get to know herself. She is young and therefore there is much of her that is still a stranger to herself—interests, dislikes, fears that all remain separated from her own consciousness.

It has been fascinating to find them out, fascinating to learn more of herself.

During this time, she has spent much of her time in her tigress form. Perhaps she feels freer when she can wander the meadow with the dirt between her paws, the shadows resting across her large, striped back. She feels safer, she thinks, when her lips can draw back and reveal the canines behind them, when she can smell the horses around her, when she can sense them in a way she just can’t as a horse.

Still, she never quite shakes the small voice of her mother. While the guilt has subsided, she knows that she is not welcome in this form. She is not invited in when she walks a predator among the prey.

(Although it can be argued that few within these lands are true prey.)

So she freezes when she sees him, tilting her feline head back to search his face. Without a word, she shifts, the orange and the black bleeding into a deep obsidian save the brilliant blue of her face. Her silver eyes peer out toward him, wondering at what lives beneath the surface, at what churns there.

Always so curious.

“Hello,” her voice is husky and deep, giving him a shadow of a smile but nothing else.

sochi

it comes and goes in waves; it always does, it always does
we watch as our young hearts fade into the flood, into the flood