cold in the violence after the war
hope is a fire to keep us warm
Nerine is very different from the island she’d been born on. Colder, for starters. More stark. But the oceans are the same, endlessly blue, crashing constantly against the rocky shores. It’s not the warm, almost languid turquoise of the south, but gray and forbidding. Still, it’s the same water, the same liquid touch.
But Daddy and Dagen and Momma are here, and she supposes that’s all that really matters. She wouldn’t want to be anywhere without them. And if this is where they were, this is where she would be too. She’d get used to it. Eventually.
With a huff, she trots forward briskly, wondering how far she would have to go before her muscles would begin to burn and fatigue would set it. Too far, she thinks. It seems every day she could go farther and farther. Every day it took longer for her body to tire. A side effect of the constant exercise, she supposes. Her need to lose herself in the effort.
She’d almost woken Dagen, but he needed the sleep. So did she too, probably, but she’d found it more and more difficult to get comfortable lately. She knew why, of course, but she pretended not to. Even if it become more obvious with each passing day.
She doesn’t notice the rain at first, the distant sounds of thunder lost beneath the rhythmic beat of her hooves over stone and earth. When she finally does glance up and notice the darkening sky, she slows to a halt. For a moment, she only stares at it, wondering, awed. When the first drop of rain splatters across her nose however, she is recalled to herself. Turning, she leaps into a ground-eating lope, heading for the woods where she had left Dagen.
The rain is falling in earnest when she finally reaches the trees. She slows to a walk, pausing to shake the water from her red and white skin (a futile effort, to be sure) when she draws beneath the protective shelter of the leaves. Her skin shivers across the press of bone, itching and prickling in a way she had begun to grow accustomed to these last few weeks. She leans against a tree, idly scratching until a sudden, sharp pang causes her to flinch away.
Drawing her head swiftly around, she flexes the offended shoulder before she notices a trickle of blood mingling with the water dripping from her. A sharp corner of bloodied bone pierces through her skin where moments before it had been stretched taught. At its limit, apparently.
She turns abruptly when a call echoes through the trees, momentarily distracted by the unexpected sound. Twitching her shoulder uncomfortably, she breaks into a trot, moving towards the call, stubbornly determined to ignore the sharp pain of freshly broken skin. She slows only when she sees a figure through the trees, curiosity overwhelming her as she approaches with unabashed boldness. “I am!” she replies, her lips tilting into a grin. And if her cheeriness sounds a little forced, well, hopefully he wouldn’t notice.
Brazen
