[ Post a Response | Desreal ]
Posted by .indira on January 20, 2009, 6:24 pm, in reply to "all that glitters is not gold; indira/mordecai" I N D I R A
74.12.120.185
This is not right. None of it.
I am not where I am supposed to be. I am a sea dweller, a child born in the valleys and raised on the coast. I had had friends, children my age who I had grown close to, grown to love. Butcher, Keir, Anokhi (my beloved sister). And Muerte, whose name causes a most sharp pang of guilt to touch my heart. I have abandoned the Isle, though not by choice. What if he returned? What if he found me missing? Would he think I had abandoned him? I shake my head, one violent toss, attempting fruitlessly to rid such thoughts from my mind. I had not willingly left, in fact I had (or so I thought) died, perished, been taken from this world. But here I stand, for all intensive purposes alive. Though whether this is the same world I had once known is still entirely unclear to me. This could well be either Heaven or Hell, and from my first encounter I am concerned it is the latter, though I cannot imagine what earthly sin would damn me. But still, I had seen a horse with the blackest coat I had ever seen, framed by a mane and tail of the most vibrant neon green, and with eyes of a similar, eerie shade. That could be no mortal equine. If this was not Hell, this was a strange place indeed.
For the moment, however, I am not in the company fo any devils or sprites. Instead I am rather alone, exploring what seems to be my new home (not Home, there is quite the difference. I still cannot think of anything but Arnicyde as my Home, though it seems I am not fated to return to those lovely shores). And at this moment I find I have all but left the Desert behind me, Ni'Srilan I am told it is called, the place that I hope might eventually become my Home). Instead of the hot, arid desert with air so dry it parches my mouth, I am instead in more of a jungle setting. The air is still warm, but now there is a rich moisture to it, as though this place held its own moisture plus the stolen moisture from Ni'Srilan's air. It is refreshing, for it reminds me of the moist air that I drank in Arnicyde, though it lacks the obvious salty taste. I allow my legs to stretch beneath me as I swallow the mossy earth in long strides, my gait becoming more even as I remember how to walk on my oddly bent left foreleg. Lifting my muzzle I drink in the air, pulling it into my lungs and tasting the sweet texture of it. From the mixture of scents here I am led to believe this is the same as my old Redwood Forest, a common ground. There is one scent that is particularly close, one that is laced with testosterone and is rather musky. A sound accompanies it, one of drumming hoof beats. I slow to a halt, poised, muscles now tense, coiled beneath my satin blue coat. I am ready to flee should the approaching hoof beats be unfriendly. I am not normally a flighty creature, I do not often run from the unknown...But here, in this strange place with neon green horses, I am unstable, and I do not know what to expect next. For all I know the approaching hoof beats could be those of a ten legged equine monster with spiky blue hair.
When he does appear I cannot help the laughter that trickles off my tongue. Images of spider horses and giant monsters had been dancing in my head, and what does appear but a rather normal, almost boring in comparison, looking male with a most gentle, almost frightened looking expression. He slows, and I do not believe he notices me. I am, of course, a friendly creature and am more than happy to approach him now that I am sure he has four legs and a rather dull brown coat with *shock* matching accessories. My gait is almost regular, with only the slightest limp, as the bend in my left fore has made it shorter than the right. A most delicate, welcoming smile perches easily on my lips, a low nicker tinkering out of my flared nostrils. My soft, honey brown eyes linger on his kindly looking face and I nod to him, once I am sure he has noticed me. "Hello there." My voice comes to me easier now than it has the first few attempts; it is nearly back to its clear tone. It has the sound of importance to it, demanding attention, though at the moment I am far from demanding of this boy. And it clings to the last remaining bits of childlike quality, for I am still a child of sorts, only just three. "I'm Indira, of Ni'Srilan." My lips stiffen as I speak this part, it is the first time I have tried out this title and it sounds awkward to me, like it does not belong. But practice makes perfect, no?
a new philosophy*
nehru x tilapia2
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