01-14-2024, 04:43 AM
our time has had no wares;;
Her steps come light across the snow一
A breath, fine like mist. The knotted tangles of her forelock swirl around the chipped edge of her horn. This place was foreign to her. It was like being birthed anew.
How long had she been asleep? Not asleep, perhaps, but hidden away in the bramble and brash and mire? The shaggy little mare takes each step with purpose, regaining her strength. Her head lifts a fraction, green eyes like polished emeralds stare out across the meadow. Above the moon hangs with a crooked grin, his eyes sliding over the sharp plains of her rust colored body. Dirt clings to fetlock and flank and the smell of the earth holds tight. It fills her to the brim and she feels close to bursting.
A shiver runs down her. She trots across the open meadow towards a group of trees. She could smell the other horses一almost taste the sweat, the uncertainty, the fear. Their mortality. It was acidic on her tongue. Citadelle moved into the trees, slowing down to a walk. A crawl. She was not tired, not like one might think after so long.
Her hooves crunched against snow and fallen branches. If someone heard her, she didn’t care. Let them come, she thought, let them see what has come from the depths of the ground.
