[ What Do You Have To Say? | Ni'Srilan: The Desert ]
Posted by isadore on March 15, 2009, 6:13 am
210.11.161.202
She breathed the desert. And she didn’t know what it was, or why it was, but she was discontent. It wasn’t enough to have the sand charred in the shape of her lungs, and sun burning her orange back. But it was irrelevant that her hooves were hardened from rain and dust, and the fact her father’s eyes burned brighter in her skull. Isadore was not sure where she belonged, and even at the stage where any normal foal would be getting used to their legs, she feels this is extremely important.
It might have to do that in her element-wielding gut she could feel it.
Ni’Srilan would not last forever.
There is amazing grace to the child, who hardly blinks, not even against gales of sand. Water runs across her. It swamps on her body and hisses on the ground… Isadore walks on clouds of steam. Never had she stumbled down the dunes or caught in the grains, the foal never faltered, even as her burning beryl eyes glaze over, and she thinks of what was beyond the birthing sands. It was in the middle of these thoughts she stumbles upon a grey and dappled mare.
The silver bay pauses.
A breeze ruffles her starch white mane, and nothing flickers over her stark white face (for you see although her body burns orange, and her legs a sooty brown, upon her face is bold and white and covered, and white that makes her nostrils pink, and strands of mane and tail dull in comparison).
“’Lo,”
The child greets her like her father would have, although I tell you Isadore only offers a polite smile. She doesn’t know loneliness, she doesn’t know companionship. All she knows is mother and daughter, (which applies whether you’re near each other or not). So all that is offered is a polite tilt, and those hazel eyes flutter slightly, as her wandering stops. Although, Isadore keeps wondering,
“Do you belong here?”
isadore
From the burnt sands.
H y p a t i a x S t e r l i n g
And the flooded lands.
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