01-23-2019, 10:49 AM
Ring of red roses; pocketful of posies.
We all fall down!
Wander sang in her sleep; the sleepy-time draught of powerful flower-magic was just that powerful! She didn’t even know she was sleeping at first; not until the dream began to take shape and it involved the brilliantly golden Pampas. Oh - and her singing, of course.
High and melodic, childish in nature as Wander moved her legs and found no strange possession of them. Which also made her think this was no dream but so very, very real. Because she thought she was actually skipping along instead of having her head pillowed on a fat red narcotic bloom that plunged her into a very real-feeling dream of the best kind.
She’ll regret that best kind later.
The kind of later that starts to happen now —
So, the scene is set with the apricot sprite skipping along on exuberant heels that flash at the sky in bucks and hops. Nothing is disrespectful - only playful, as she giggles and sings and it all seems so very innocent. But innocence sometimes has a way of turning sinister.
Wander plays and so does nature; both doing what they do best. Mother Nature (beqanna Nature, magic gone rampant and mad!) decides to play a game of its own: how fast can the little pony-girl run? The sky darkens as a storm builds and the wind begins to howl something awful loud. It sounds monstrous and ominous and Wander merely halts to throw a challenging grin at it. She loves storms, let it come!
The girl shrills her challenge in a small but mighty whinny before plunging forward at a dead run. Just as she does so, the wind starts to coalesce and spin - oh no, a tornado! Her eyes widen in surprise at the very real danger that makes her very real heart beat in pure terror. Papa warned her about twisters! They’ll pick a horse up, spin it round and round then slam it to the ground.
That usually meant miles away and very much dead.
Wander didn’t want to be dead; she had an aversion to it. A particular and strong aversion, knowing that death should be avoided at all costs. She then realized that she’d been standing there this entire time, staring at the tornado as it gained in size and swirled angrily in its charge across the Pampas. “Oh no!” she cried aloud as it bowled and sang its intent to her.
Panic subsumed her; she began to run but the dust and debris field that rotated outward around the funnel was already not far from her. It had moved faster than she had ever thought possible for a force of frustrated nature! The wind caught and whipped her hair about her into a frenzy, and this time she whinnied in absolute fear as she snorted and reared. Wander began to run but somehow, she already knew it was futile as the first of the powerful whirling winds from the backlit wedge found her.
Next thing she knew, she was sucked upward like she weighed nothing - like a bundle of sticks! The twister spun her around and around so much, that she had to shut her eyes as tears leaked freely out. Wander just knew she was going to die. There was no getting around it as each spin became more nauseating and high. Debris hit her within the vortex and her painful frightened cries were swallowed up by the incessant wall of the wind as it raged around her.
Then —
The tornado lost momentum and Wander slammed to the ground. Hard enough to break her neck and stop her heart. Hard enough to jolt her upright and right out of that horrible horrible dream! She found herself braces on splayed legs like a first-time foal; sides heaving from terror and a very real-feeling demise that had spiked adrenaline in her.
Wander was sweat-slick and shaking as one potent red bloom caught her eye and she politely but angrily whispered, “Naughty flower! Giving me a fright like that…” but her anger spent itself just as quickly as the remnants of her dream-death clung to her, threatening her precious purpose of flower-fetching for the fairies.