[ What Do You Have To Say? | Ni'Srilan: The Desert ]
Posted by the child. on March 14, 2009, 7:38 am
210.11.161.202
The clouds come. They are dark – as one would expect – with the amount of rain they carry. Each more foreboding than the other, they fight across the usually flawless blue skies of the sands. Grappling curls of condensation in front of each other, they growl with their intent.
Whispers and rumbles escape from the sky, and the entire desert is dark. The red sand is bloody with the lack of light that fades off into infinity, and the clouds whisper and rumble again.
The first droplets break onto the barren dunes when Isadore pools out into the sand.
She comes out as nothing, and is shaped by that around her.
Rain batters her into the sand, casts a mold around the nothingness, and the fire burns. It comes from her mother and flickers over her body. It burns out bones and flesh, and the rain rinses the excess away. Steam rises and curls between the rain and flames crackle over her hairs… chars her legs, burns the sand beneath her. The sand that stick and buries into her, to make up the fibre of her being, and colour her body that bright furious colour of a blazing desert, reds and orange, and her legs burn. They stay sooty and dark, and burn away from the sand, as they thrash with the elements.
All that is left in the end is the water.
The rain washes away her face, breaks the cast of the desert and fire, and leaves it white and pale. When Isadore moves, her thick, short mane is pulled away white and stark, it pulses against the warmth of her neck, and her face is like the moon. Nostrils tremble and flicker and flare, the water catching in them, the water that fell down the crevices of her face, and around her dark beryl eyes. These eyes stare at her mother, and instinctively, Isadore moves.
Her breath is raspy through the water, that still poured from her. It created a moat around her, a moat around her and her mother when she presses her head to her flank. Her ginger pink lips kiss her mother, and Isadore stares at her with those eyes, and Sterling is there. His muzzle wraps around his daughter who closes her eyes again, and she exhales, she exhales his scent, and his water, their water. The filly’s element pulsates against her fire-water mother, as Sterling embraces them both in the day-night, the time that didn’t exist... as the clouds still rained.
But the clouds were gone the next day, and Isadore stood on her long fine legs, and looked out upon the desert, and she wondered.
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