bulletholes in my heart

Though gangly and long, proportionately, those lean, fickle limbs covered very little ground as she strove through the dense, fluorescent wilderness in pursuit of his voice. It was a world of vicarious colour and looming giants, both overwhelming and intimidating, and Eria found it difficult to navigate; three times already she had clambered over root and vine to find only web like blockage of growth at the end (there were no trails, no reason for her to believe that others like them were existent - but Indra was near, and he filled those ravenous blue contours with hope. “INDY!” She screamed again (it never crossed her mind that predators might loom in to sinister snarl of flanking shadow) … “Indra?” For a moment she paused, pale face thrown to the leaden sky (or the jungle which obscured its view), blue eyes traipsing hither and thither, anticipating the next boyish yell; without hesitation, the closer still sound of her beloved twin, a whinny, came barrelling towards her. It felt as though a thousand butterflies had suddenly taken flight in her belly and their tickling, tumbling wings against that taut confinement, encouraged an eager smile to crack the otherwise withered expression. The tiny filly was sure that footsteps murmured in the undergrowth just ahead, and downy ears responded quickly, straining forward, leading a sudden - precarious – headlong charge. “INDRA! I’m here!” He was so close she could practically taste his sweet, perfect scent on that stiff, stale air; fighting fervently to break through a snare of entangling vine and then she was free, beyond that horrid labyrinth of neon underbrush and into a clearing where the colt stood flared and fantastically brave. “Oh, Indy!” She squealed softly, springing forward without reservation to plant herself beneath his gaping wingspan. Fondly, velvety lips nuzzled a path down that familiar girth, nostrils fluttering, drinking in her favourite flavour; “I love you so much…” though tears streamed down her face, streaking smearing silver through his murky coat, the pain of loss and confusion, fear and disfigurement, were in those moments lost - for nothing else mattered quite as much to her as the other half of her soul.

Lines | Colouring
@Indra