09-24-2019, 07:48 PM
Darkness surrounds her.
The air does not move, but it does not smell stagnant, it does not smell at all. There is no sound but for her breathing and the dull thud of her hooves on the unseen ground below, and when the yearling drops her muzzle to brush against it, the dust that clings to her lips has no flavor. She continues to step forward, blind and confident, the thrill of this dark, quiet, place lighting her veins on fire.
Then, a wind. The sensitive whiskers around her muzzle and eyes stir first, a breath of warning before she is buffeted from all directions by a wild wind that blows away the darkness like a flag torn to shreds, remnants of it curling and flipping and racing away. She cranes her neck to watch it disappear through lowered lids, turns her head away from the wind instead of into it so the sand is blown around her but not into her eyes, not into her nostrils and ears and teeth. The sun is so bright after the encompassing nothing that tears jump to her eyes, she sees stars, but they soon fade, along with the mad, gusting, wind, and she casts her gaze about her, eagerly.
It is no surprise to Popinjay that she is not where she left. This is not the Taiga. Her understanding of geography is poor, but she is certain this is no part of Beqanna proper at all. The sand shifts underfoot but she wastes no time worrying about it. Not when, before her, rising tall and serious, is a statue; part human, part lion, part eagle. It is impressive, yet the only thing she thinks is <I>I could climb that.</I> In fact, she tries, and has even gotten close enough to place one grey hoof on its great paw when, rather without warning, the sculpture shudders, dust lifting in clouds, and rises. Popinjay squeals and shies to one side, but circles back quickly as the Sphinx awakens. A mad grin brightens her dark face and she tosses her forelock aside, baring the jaunty star on her brow.
"You're <I>almost</I> as tall as Aten, I think! Almost... but, <I>not quite</I>." she shouts up to the rocky creature, beaming, "My name is Popinjay! If you don't want folk to climb you, you should try looking less like a big, stupid, rock!" The dark filly laughs and rears, dancing sideways on her back legs like a goat. The Sphinx is right to accuse her of impudence.
Its riddle stops her, though, interrupts her motion, if only for a moment. She does not fear the creature's wrath and no part of her says she is taking its threats too seriously, but she does love a riddle and her upper lips points and quirks to the side, wrinkling as she thinks. What is everybody attracted to, what does everybody fall for? She remembers, briefly, a quiet conversation with Lethy on why the feather she stole from Lepis drifted down every time, never up like you might expect a wing feather to do. <I>Gravity</I> Lethy had said, <I> Gravity is what makes everything fall to the ground, even feathers.</I> And then she remembers another conversation, one between two stallions in the Taiga, when Popinjay was young and intruding where she shouldn't. Something mischievous flashes in her eye when she looks up again.
"Have you ever met a mare named Kensa?"
The air does not move, but it does not smell stagnant, it does not smell at all. There is no sound but for her breathing and the dull thud of her hooves on the unseen ground below, and when the yearling drops her muzzle to brush against it, the dust that clings to her lips has no flavor. She continues to step forward, blind and confident, the thrill of this dark, quiet, place lighting her veins on fire.
Then, a wind. The sensitive whiskers around her muzzle and eyes stir first, a breath of warning before she is buffeted from all directions by a wild wind that blows away the darkness like a flag torn to shreds, remnants of it curling and flipping and racing away. She cranes her neck to watch it disappear through lowered lids, turns her head away from the wind instead of into it so the sand is blown around her but not into her eyes, not into her nostrils and ears and teeth. The sun is so bright after the encompassing nothing that tears jump to her eyes, she sees stars, but they soon fade, along with the mad, gusting, wind, and she casts her gaze about her, eagerly.
It is no surprise to Popinjay that she is not where she left. This is not the Taiga. Her understanding of geography is poor, but she is certain this is no part of Beqanna proper at all. The sand shifts underfoot but she wastes no time worrying about it. Not when, before her, rising tall and serious, is a statue; part human, part lion, part eagle. It is impressive, yet the only thing she thinks is <I>I could climb that.</I> In fact, she tries, and has even gotten close enough to place one grey hoof on its great paw when, rather without warning, the sculpture shudders, dust lifting in clouds, and rises. Popinjay squeals and shies to one side, but circles back quickly as the Sphinx awakens. A mad grin brightens her dark face and she tosses her forelock aside, baring the jaunty star on her brow.
"You're <I>almost</I> as tall as Aten, I think! Almost... but, <I>not quite</I>." she shouts up to the rocky creature, beaming, "My name is Popinjay! If you don't want folk to climb you, you should try looking less like a big, stupid, rock!" The dark filly laughs and rears, dancing sideways on her back legs like a goat. The Sphinx is right to accuse her of impudence.
Its riddle stops her, though, interrupts her motion, if only for a moment. She does not fear the creature's wrath and no part of her says she is taking its threats too seriously, but she does love a riddle and her upper lips points and quirks to the side, wrinkling as she thinks. What is everybody attracted to, what does everybody fall for? She remembers, briefly, a quiet conversation with Lethy on why the feather she stole from Lepis drifted down every time, never up like you might expect a wing feather to do. <I>Gravity</I> Lethy had said, <I> Gravity is what makes everything fall to the ground, even feathers.</I> And then she remembers another conversation, one between two stallions in the Taiga, when Popinjay was young and intruding where she shouldn't. Something mischievous flashes in her eye when she looks up again.
"Have you ever met a mare named Kensa?"
