Everything about this new world, this
Rift is just so…
empty. The rainforest in which I had been spat into had been full of screams and shouts, cries and wails of grief. Enough noise to wake even the deepest of sleepers. However, in all the time I spent there, the only other horse I met was a young filly named Maude. I can still see the outline of her small body, trembling, pale flesh rippling with discomfited nerves. I recall the shimmering mist that burned icy scales into her back and sides, the imprint of a tree on her hind leg. I remember my own fit of hysteria and the terror it wrought. After that I ran (would you not do the same thing?) until my hooves ached and my muscles would go no farther, spasming with every forced step. My hind legs, my cursed disease (
hush now, don’t you cry…)-
“Easy sweetheart-” the stallion begins, clearly disarmed by my response, but swifter than I at hiding it behind an experienced façade. A smile twitches at his lips.
“If I was here to steal your soul, I wouldn’t start off by talking about the damn weather.”
My ears slide back as I listen, information feeding into my brain like a machine. I analyze his stance, his features, the sweep of his eyes across my sides. The intonations of his voice as he attempts to - humorously - rebuke my vitriol. Is this not a perfect example of my very suspicion? The proverbial ‘olive branch’ that might take me into my most dreaded nightmare? Kaos was alive and well, he was inescapable. How could this man assume that I would know his intentions were peaceful? How could he assume
anything? Or perhaps- “
And what - pray tell - would you have me do otherwise? Expect the best of a land dead-set on devouring me?” I say, the tremor is gone and my voice is tempered. “
Kaos has picked Helovia apart, he seeks to destroy our very wills. Would you believe his creatures incapable of luring comfort into the minds of those unsuspecting?”
The Golden man has moved closer, no more than a stones throw away. My skin crawls.
“The name is Thranduil…”
As if in a last ditch effort of not looking completely incompetent, I straighten myself up to my full height. We are nearly matched, however, I am taller than him by no more than a few inches at best. Our bodies could not have been anymore different. He held the telltale signs of a warrior, a fighter, someone who has lived his life fighting for- whatever. A layer of toned muscle lies dormant beneath a manicured suit of bronzed gold. Eyes the color of earth stare down at me with thinly veiled mirth. He is not afraid, not in the slightest, not of me. I am softer, my body thicker, back longer, curves wider. The tip of my tail twitches against the ground, dragging tangled black hair through the bone-white sand. “
I… I am B-!”
Suddenly a child has appeared and I start back a few steps. The stallion,
Thranduil, turns to face the youngling with a look of fondness. They know each other, clearly. No such look is reserved for strangers. Then he is turning back to face me, those brown eyes - now tinted with gold? - meet starshine-silver blue, and the air rushes out of my lungs.
“Galahad, meet damsel in distress… unless you prefer another name?”
(
Speak now or forever hold your peace!)
“
Sheba. My name is Sheba, of Helovia.”
"Talk."
Galahad
Riptide Isles
