bulletholes in my heart

some things you just don't forget

His voice was growing hoarse with his shouts, the one word he knew best, he knew perfectly, the name of his sister, he repeated it, filling the air with his cries not a breath after the echo of the previous call had faded. His throat hurt, it ached, but he could not yet see his sister, and so he continued to shout, to cry, heedless of the tears that wet his face, uncaring for the way in which he crashed about the land, searching, looking, seeking her roan hide, her feminine form, her beautiful and simultaneously fragile, perfect, pristine self. He had to find her, he had to be near her, because they had to live - that was what father had said, right? Live!

"EIRA!" his call was almost pleading, begging his surrounds to reveal her, to present her to him. He was as demanding as he was praying to gods or whatever it was that ruled this land, and it was only when he thought all was lost to him and a moment of silence pressed against his ears that he assumed the wind had somehow breathed his own name back at him.

…Indra…

Was it his mother, the blessed cloudmare whose pelt mirrored the skies above? Was it his father, the strong and proud beast whose body sometimes failed him but whose heart always remained true, at least to his kin?

But then the colt remembered, he recalled the troubling, terrifying event that had just unfolded, the memories dancing in the forefront of his mind with stinging clarity, the fleeting images of his parents both going to their deaths as the world around them all crumbled and fell into nothing.

"Ei -" he went to begin again, but then he heard it, the sound, the cry, the question, posed to the eerie wind, the wind that they were born in, connected to. Silver streaks ran down his chiselled, youthful face, marking the tears that had fallen, but his entire posture stiffened now, rigidity casting him into a stationary stance as his steely gaze pierced his surrounds with unforgiving sharpness.

A footstep, a movement, another whisper, and he was forward again, determination filling his body now, certainty that arose from youthful naivety pushing him onwards. He called out, a whinny this time, a wordless greeting to his sister, a final plea that he might be on the right path to her, that he might know her form on the plane of his steely gaze again.

And then a movement, and hope flared painfully in his chest, as with his mother's spear in his mouth, he whirled to face the perpetrator, downy wings flared and nostrils gasping to taste the strange air before him.

But then the spear was dropped, and the colt was moving forwards with his muzzle outstretched, for it was her, his sister, his wombmate, his twin.

"Eira," he murmured, his favourite word by far, his smile unmistakable as he reached out to embrace her, to feel her against his own plush maw. The marks upon his face were fading, the tracks of his tears drying and turning dark once more, as his body hummed a low whicker, relishing in the simple pleasure he felt at this moment.

(For he hadn't yet seen that she was changed, possibly hurt, but surely when he did, everything would change once more).

I n d r a

sxc.hu | whimzi
on deviantart

@Eira
I swear he'll say something other than her name in my next reply lolol