08-15-2022, 11:18 PM
Fall brings closure to the land. The leaves begin to depart from the trees, the grass becomes brittle and sour, foals lose interest in their mothers and the sweet breath of summer is washed away on crisp wind. She chose this time to depart from her own family because it seemed almost poetic to let the death of her old life coincide with the death of the Earth's favorite season.
Dark tresses scrape the forest floor and the foliage below as she makes her way through winding paths laden with trees. The deep bubbling of moving water catches the attention of a dark ear and leads the mare further and further through the trees until they dwindle and fade into small groupings not even she could fit between.
The air is crisp with the arrival of the season and her withers shudder at the thought of the oncoming winter. She had always hated that time when the world truthfully died and everything was replaced with frigidness and ice so thick not even steel could puncture it. In her home before, the winter lasted longest, by the end of it her coat would be horribly thick and the ebony mane she loved so would become thin and tangled.
The flecked mare could only hope that whatever home she found next would be kinder during that deathly time, more giving than her last.
As the gurgling of the river grows louder and the trees become far and few the mare picks up the pace, trots gleefully towards the sound. There are others here, dotting the dying ground and gathering peacefully amongst themselves. Seemingly she is the only one here by her lonesome. Its a peaceful thought to her busy mind. Her solitude gives her the chance to observe, to gather information about the river itself.
The water is clear enough to reflect her own image back at her, one she is not disappointed by.
The summer treated her well, her coat had slicked itself shiny once more and her mane had grown back thick and glossy. The ravenous claws of hunger had faded from her now full face and chest, the shadows of her ribs no longer visible. Her Mable eye had lost its milky film and the deep brown of its twin was glistening once more. She felt like a living being again rather than a forest wraith.
How poetic it was to be born again when the world was beginning to die.
She herself could have been a poet, or she could have been a fool.
Dippin a pale hoof into the water to shatter her image she decided that this new world of her own would never decide her fate as the past winters had. She would be the ultimate creator of the path she now took.
With that she turned her back towards the water and took inventory of all of those around her.
Dark tresses scrape the forest floor and the foliage below as she makes her way through winding paths laden with trees. The deep bubbling of moving water catches the attention of a dark ear and leads the mare further and further through the trees until they dwindle and fade into small groupings not even she could fit between.
The air is crisp with the arrival of the season and her withers shudder at the thought of the oncoming winter. She had always hated that time when the world truthfully died and everything was replaced with frigidness and ice so thick not even steel could puncture it. In her home before, the winter lasted longest, by the end of it her coat would be horribly thick and the ebony mane she loved so would become thin and tangled.
The flecked mare could only hope that whatever home she found next would be kinder during that deathly time, more giving than her last.
As the gurgling of the river grows louder and the trees become far and few the mare picks up the pace, trots gleefully towards the sound. There are others here, dotting the dying ground and gathering peacefully amongst themselves. Seemingly she is the only one here by her lonesome. Its a peaceful thought to her busy mind. Her solitude gives her the chance to observe, to gather information about the river itself.
The water is clear enough to reflect her own image back at her, one she is not disappointed by.
The summer treated her well, her coat had slicked itself shiny once more and her mane had grown back thick and glossy. The ravenous claws of hunger had faded from her now full face and chest, the shadows of her ribs no longer visible. Her Mable eye had lost its milky film and the deep brown of its twin was glistening once more. She felt like a living being again rather than a forest wraith.
How poetic it was to be born again when the world was beginning to die.
She herself could have been a poet, or she could have been a fool.
Dippin a pale hoof into the water to shatter her image she decided that this new world of her own would never decide her fate as the past winters had. She would be the ultimate creator of the path she now took.
With that she turned her back towards the water and took inventory of all of those around her.
:heart: