08-16-2016, 03:04 PM
burnt.
Burnt tears her eyes away from Topsail to look at the lightning that splits the belly of the horizon open and for an instant, the world is over-bright and seared against her brain in the shape of humpbacked hills and horses. She can feel the rumble of thunder in her belly as if she birthed the storm, but that’s a silly thought - she has birthed nothing but subtle hints in the brain of Extinct.
(She tried once, to influence Sinew but her mother balked at her daughter’s intrusive thoughts and took Burnt into a place that no foal’s mind ought to go - somewhere darker than a night devoid of all stars, and Burnt never tried again to pick and pry through Sinew’s mind and memories, it was far too horrific to process, and it might have added to the collection of darkness that prowled through Burnt’s own mind.)
The storm flickers, like the pulse of the land’s anger, and swells greater after tasting it - - she has picked up on the thoughts of the angry magic that yanked itself out of every kingdom by the very roots and left nothing unscathed. Some of them were forever changed, she supposed, so reliant upon their kingdom-given gifts that their lives were now sorely lacking and they must be sad to be so ordinary again. Burnt could not imagine a fate such as that, to not have her smoldering wings tucked up close against her ribs or the ability to pilfer through any mind that she desired, or to project her thoughts into another’s head… A loss like that could kill her; it made her who she was, vivid and electric.
“Yes,” she echoes, not in the least bit forlorn at the way Extinct’s mind was lacking in comparison to theirs. Extinct was almost a mare but not quite, aging much more slowly than Burnt did though Extinct had come before her. She figured it had something to do with the mammoth blood in her, and likewise as to her mental capacity and the way Extinct was essentially a simpleton. It made her quite malleable, and Burnt liked that quality about her best. She could not help the way her lips were given towards slyness in their shape, turned up in the corners in a tiny smile. Burnt makes no move to block Topsail’s course towards her sister; she is curious to see will come of their meeting.
Extinct is happy; sister is nearby - sister is safe. The storm is bad, angry, and she doesn’t like storms like that. If it must rain, the mammoth-horse prefer sweet little squalls that are quick to spit their rain down on them and then blow over. She likes the way the earth smells after, wet and heavenly. She is happy to be near sister though; mother said sister would look after her and sister always does, though sometimes sister is in her head and that scares her, the things that sister shows her are not always nice and Extinct gets in trouble with mother for those things that sister blames on her. But she loves sister, and sister would not hurt her. Sister would not let the mare that approaches her hurt her either, so Extinct merely looks at Topsail with her dumb brown eyes.
The beast did not tense beneath the muzzle laid against her shoulder - she couldn’t, the lullaby was too effective and entirely too sweet to be ignored. Extinct was careful to not stab a tusk accidentally at Topsail, but found that her head swayed to the motherly trill in the grulla’s mind-voice, as it swaddled her brain in a charming singsong cadence. She grunts the moment Topsail steps away from her, turning her dumb brown eyes towards Burnt who assures her that she will hear more songs later. But Extinct is made to bed down in the brush for the night, for the duration of Burnt and Topsail’s pilgrimage through the meadow. The mammoth-horse mindlessly obeys and nods her hairy tusked head towards the grulla mare in farewell. Burnt, she knows, will let them meet again but Extinct is happy to sleep now. Sleep is good and her eyes are heavy, or maybe that is Burnt that is doing that…
Burnt has never looked away from the two of them - Extinct and Topsail, curious to see the exchange that takes place, even though the storm batters at the back of her brain. She listens in on the lullaby that is sung to her sister-pet and smiles to see the kindness dealt the mammoth-horse; her respect for the grulla mare mounts by the minute, knowing that cruelty cannot exist with kindness, and that the duality lies within each of them and she has witnessed it in Topsail. Someone like that is someone to walk beside, because Burnt does not easily follow. She nods her head in concession to the walk, stepping after Topsail and trailing embers from her wings so that the path behind her sparks and glows for seconds at a time. Burnt grows curiouser and curiouser as to how far they will go, for surely this is no ordinary walk for either of them.
The path turns them closer towards the forest and she can hear the noises made by horses in slumber, just as she can hear the noises of other animals tucked in for the night. She can smell them too, deer and grouse amongst the horse-scent that hangs thick over the tall grasses, and her mind is cast wide like a net trawling for dreams and thoughts and things that Burnt can store up for later use. “Neither have I, beyond casual experiments with Extinct’s mind but she is too easy to delve into as you’ve experienced for yourself.” Lightning rolled above their heads, tumbling after thunder, and lighting up their backs; her wings stretched wide to catch the storm-wind that would blow through embers and feathers alike, tickling her sides. She pinned those wings back neatly against her sides, listening to the thread of thought that both their minds teased along, and her smile grew terrible in the storm-light.
“They are ripe for the plucking,” then her mind narrowed and plunged into the mind of a nearby mare that had a sleepy smile on her face. Burnt began to shape herself into a shadow within the dream, a happy thing that she encroached upon and meant to turn darker, more nightmarish with but a thought. It was a subtle thought too, a plucking on of a string of fear that made the mare suddenly shiver in her sleep as the day darkened up with storm and the foal she dreamt of grew farther from her side. Even Burnt could hear the plaintive cry of the dream-foal for the mother who spun in a frantic circle (outside the dream, her hooves dug at the earth in terrible confusion and Burnt closed her eyes in concentration) looking for her babe as the storm grew in size and threat. Rain began to pelt the mare, her fur grew slick and her fear rose up in her throat -- the mare made a noise outside the dream, an ear on Burnt’s head turned towards it, then flicked back into position. The mare struggled in her dream, whinnying in terror as thunder shook the earth and lightning dazzled her eyes, making them blind - where was her foal? Burnt could not help the cackle that was lost in thunder, both in dreams and out, as she wrenched herself rather violently from the dream, leaving the mare to tremble in fitful interrupted sleep.
“Your turn,” she says to Topsail, turning the reins of the nightmare over to her. Burnt knew they could subliminally do as they pleased, make merry things turn mean and vice versa, but together they were much more likely to be as reckless and as cruel as the newborn storm at their backs.