there's a song in your lung
and a dream in your eye
She cannot lay any claim to being flawless. Perhaps once that might have been so. Perhaps once, with her bright carmine skin that faded into striking white, she might have been considered quite without fault. But not anymore. Never again. Her once pristine body is now scored with black cracks, fractures in her once perfect skin that skitter across her body with jarring imprecision. The boldness of those fissures are made even more notable by the bright sparks of light flickering along them. With those cracks, that light, she is a mess of blatant imperfections.
She does not linger on those numerous flaws however. She has no need to. Those very faults have given her strength, awakened her in ways not possible without the terrible anguish that had brought them about. Those that take her broken skin as a sign of weakness would learn very soon the error in their judgement. She knows, better than most, that such obvious marks do not automatically equate to vulnerability.
She had woken this morning, unsure of what she should do with herself. As yet, so very little weight had been placed upon her in her new role within the Amazons. Perhaps then, she must place that weight upon herself. She had woken with a desire to do something, though that something had not been clear. The vibrantly green foliage of the jungle stares back at her, daring her. Daring her to make her place here. Daring her to set her mark. And then she knows just how she must start.
Her feet turn her towards the field, golden gaze intent. She takes the easy route, through the skies, above the trees and hills, over the streams and rivers. The wind bursts against her body, a thundering song that has called to her since the day of her birth. After the thick, sticky heat of the jungle she now calls home, the brisk air of the heavens is a relief for overly warm skin.
Unfortunately, it cannot last. All too soon, she reaches the confines of the field. And however much she might like to linger, the drive beating within her chest will always win out. Her cracked white hooves skim the tops of the trees before she drops swiftly to the swaying grasses at the edge of the bustling field. Metallic eyes drifting across the expanse, she pauses. Her gaze catches upon the duo, a dusky mare standing close to a spotted stallion sporting dark feathered wings.
Her feet bring her close, easily bridging the distance between them. Dusty grass brushes against pale legs with a whispering hiss. She halts a few scant feet from them, inserting herself easily into the small group. Brilliant gold eyes survey the stallion first, before landing unerringly on the mare. The newcomer. The tail end of her words drift to her ears, conveniently informing her of the mare’s name. Roushe.
Hello Roushe, she says softly, bright gaze intent upon her. Unnerving to some, perhaps. But she does not think this mare will be too off put by her directness.
I’m Joscelin. She pauses for only a brief moment before continuing. As much as I’d like to dance around the point, I will not. Her lips quirk then, a small wry smile to emphasize her sardonic words. Perhaps she should be a little more circumspect. But then, if she were, she would not be Joscelin. I am from the Amazons. You look to be a woman who can hold her own.
joscelin