The Academy: // you are just a jerk, playing with matches

She is a mare full of fears; monsters that come unto her in daylight and in sleep alike. She is a mare full of fears simply because she has been rendered so by a steely grip around her throat and a constant, contemning shadow that has kept her a secret for so long. This sway-backed, bony keeper of hers that has cultivated her poorly and made her into a soulful (this, she is certain, he would name his greatest mistake) mutation of vehemence and innocence. Though milk-while, her skin is not pristine and her assortment of scars (these, many of their warriors would bear with poorly contained pride: she is ashamed) does not come from devious undergrowth or the whip of a branch. These are poorly healed wounds dug by teeth, these are bones broken by the flinty reprimand of hooves.

Hard-faced, distorted Palestine knows how––this, the hollowed, hateful mercury-father of hers has taught her with a meticulousness bordering to compulsiveness. And, perhaps she would even lay Nicodemus at her hooves like a shattered mantelpiece: destroying things is something the ugly half-mare is quite capable of. But she is a mare full of fears, and she will not wield her monstrous body like a weapon.

She watches him but cannot keep her attention in check. There is a Phoenix there, a bright and flaming, slender thing to captivate her. She considers Caoimhe and understands that this awe-inspiring bird must be the consequence of the generosity of these peculiar, fickle elements. Palestine herself is earthen and rock-rooted, and her closeness to the sylvan shadows of her past home (not far from their range or the reef belonging to the Jaegers) leaves her heart (so young, so unprofaned) swelling with console. Her innate connection with earth makes her forlorn and brimming with ancient, secret things. But, she is a mare full of fears and her fears keep her from understanding the means of her element, they deviously steer her away from truly controlling it.

Sometimes the earth cracks dangerously underfoot, sometimes she finds herself in violent landslides––and she doesn’t understand why.

In her awe, she has forgotten to be shy (how can she possibly, when there is flame and light and burnished gold?) but remembers it as soon as Nicodemus speaks. Instinctively and with the sonorous sound of his voice, she tilts her head into what she thinks is the least repulsive angle she can contain herself; but she is no master of these trivial disguises and remains, hopeless and hideous. “Yes,” her answer is eager nonetheless, and her voice is strangely soft, almost singing, “Yes, I will.”

Palestine, white and soulful, will listen and succumb like no other student.

You will not be disappointed, Nicodemus.

PALESTINE
WOLF
SCHOLAR
EARTH III