Silence.
It lingers here in the confined dark forest that is pushed off to the side of the meadow. The trees that stand so close together—rise up together like one—stretching out their hands for something, whether it may be the gods or curiosity. A fog intertwines through the trees. There is eeriness among the forest as it is nothing but still – nothing here seems to live. It is a frightening place, but it does not compare to the home, a home she knew so long ago.
She remembers the cold and darkness. It once was a distant memory, tucked far away, never wanting the memory to resurface again. However, here in the middle of the forest, where she stands, the memories come flooding back and shake the very core of her like an earthquake. These trees remind her of the ancient giants that hardly could be seen by the consistent thick fog that surrounded them. The stillness of the shadows and the quietness of the land only bring her heartache. Home, she thinks. Yet, this place was not here home. This was not the kingdom she knew, not the Chamber she remembered. This quiet little forest had nothing compared to the ancient giants of the Chamber.
Home would only be another distant memory now. A memory she knows she may one day forget, or not quite remember. The magic of Beqanna had taken it away from her—they had taken it away from her, those heathens. She hates them for what they have done. First it had been the Deserts flooding and then it had been the entire land of Beqanna. She wanted to hit them all, scratch out their eyes until they could no longer see—death is what she wanted most of all.
The multicolored mare sighs, a small fog rising in the early spring morning. She moves through the forest in zig-zag like fashion, keeping close to the trunks and shadows of the trees. The shadows cannot conceal her though, Lucrezia is nothing but an obvious target within this forest – she is covered in spots and peafowl markings (white, brown, orange, and yellow). She is alone out here like this, alone in the dead of this new life—this second chance she tells herself.
Alone she might always be.
It lingers here in the confined dark forest that is pushed off to the side of the meadow. The trees that stand so close together—rise up together like one—stretching out their hands for something, whether it may be the gods or curiosity. A fog intertwines through the trees. There is eeriness among the forest as it is nothing but still – nothing here seems to live. It is a frightening place, but it does not compare to the home, a home she knew so long ago.
She remembers the cold and darkness. It once was a distant memory, tucked far away, never wanting the memory to resurface again. However, here in the middle of the forest, where she stands, the memories come flooding back and shake the very core of her like an earthquake. These trees remind her of the ancient giants that hardly could be seen by the consistent thick fog that surrounded them. The stillness of the shadows and the quietness of the land only bring her heartache. Home, she thinks. Yet, this place was not here home. This was not the kingdom she knew, not the Chamber she remembered. This quiet little forest had nothing compared to the ancient giants of the Chamber.
Home would only be another distant memory now. A memory she knows she may one day forget, or not quite remember. The magic of Beqanna had taken it away from her—they had taken it away from her, those heathens. She hates them for what they have done. First it had been the Deserts flooding and then it had been the entire land of Beqanna. She wanted to hit them all, scratch out their eyes until they could no longer see—death is what she wanted most of all.
The multicolored mare sighs, a small fog rising in the early spring morning. She moves through the forest in zig-zag like fashion, keeping close to the trunks and shadows of the trees. The shadows cannot conceal her though, Lucrezia is nothing but an obvious target within this forest – she is covered in spots and peafowl markings (white, brown, orange, and yellow). She is alone out here like this, alone in the dead of this new life—this second chance she tells herself.
Alone she might always be.
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