Famous Last Stand

The fog of wariness that had all but engulfed the frail meeting seemed to ease a little, thinning its gloomy grip just enough to allow, sensitive, brittle nerves to stop their raucous pinging. Frayed lines too softened across the shaggy yearling’s sickly frame, taking heart when the horned woman swapped her broken thoughts and hesitation for a more confident suggestion:“Maybe I can lean on you and you on me—” A brighter smile ignited through Eira’s gaunt features. “I like that,” her thoughts returned quickly. Crooked forelegs trembled as the other stepped nearer, this time without the burning heat of fear coursing down their length; willing her to pivot and flee into the tangles of neon undergrowth. One chipped hoof lifted, as though to welcome the other’s advancement, and quivering nostrils extended a small puff of warm breath towards the vicinity of the other’s coloured frame; a halo of white steam billowed upwards. Amarantha, at last, introduced herself, enquiring in turn for Eira’s own identity. The orphan’s lips drew back a little, shyly, revealing a pearly, near-white grin. “I’m Eira,” she answered with rising excitement visible, feeding the words into the pretty mare’s mind. As she turned to guide Amarantha away from the Portal, the shadows and the storm, the young blue horse added, “Our home is in Halyven and there are walls and things to keep us warm.” Keeping to the plan, the one that broke the ice, Eira’s bony frame aimed to press against her wounded friend as support. Now it was just a matter of finding the right way out…

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