He wakes slowly, and the eyes from which he first sees are not his own. Blink. No, this horse is walking. Blink. No, this one is conversing with a stranger whose lips move around the word ‘sunset’. Blink There. These are his own eyes, one dark against the cold earth, one brightened by clear sky.
He always rests this way, stretched out on the earth. He can find his sight this way, and he feels somehow safer with half of himself pressed to the earth. It’s a reminder, he thinks, though he is not sure what the reminder is of. He is not sure of many things, anymore, not since he pulled himself from the dusty earth are started moving east. The autumn rains have cleansed the red dirt from his sides, but his stripes hide remains mussed and feathers of his wings protrude at sharp angles that indicate a lack of care. His tangled mane and tail are no better, and yet he manages still to catch the eye. Not quite handsome, he recalls someone telling him once, but striking.
Rising to his feet, he shakes away some of the leafy debris from his coat and moves toward the warmth of the sun. Blinking his bright eyes against the light, he peers out onto the sweeping field below. He is not sure what he is looking for, but he knows, somehow, that he must look. The brindle stallion does not recognize the red and orange mare he passes, but as he glances at another nearby, he realizes it had been her eyes he’d seen through, and this second mare had been the one who had been speaking.
”Hello,” he says, his expression friendly despite the rough disuse of his voice. ”You wouldn’t happen to know where we are, would you?”
@[Oceane]
He always rests this way, stretched out on the earth. He can find his sight this way, and he feels somehow safer with half of himself pressed to the earth. It’s a reminder, he thinks, though he is not sure what the reminder is of. He is not sure of many things, anymore, not since he pulled himself from the dusty earth are started moving east. The autumn rains have cleansed the red dirt from his sides, but his stripes hide remains mussed and feathers of his wings protrude at sharp angles that indicate a lack of care. His tangled mane and tail are no better, and yet he manages still to catch the eye. Not quite handsome, he recalls someone telling him once, but striking.
Rising to his feet, he shakes away some of the leafy debris from his coat and moves toward the warmth of the sun. Blinking his bright eyes against the light, he peers out onto the sweeping field below. He is not sure what he is looking for, but he knows, somehow, that he must look. The brindle stallion does not recognize the red and orange mare he passes, but as he glances at another nearby, he realizes it had been her eyes he’d seen through, and this second mare had been the one who had been speaking.
”Hello,” he says, his expression friendly despite the rough disuse of his voice. ”You wouldn’t happen to know where we are, would you?”
@[Oceane]