Little fish, big pond...

Unused to strangers, the foal hesitated to step any nearer; neither did the other proffer an invitation to inspire that flimsy, fickle confidence within (that which fed almost exclusively off the courage of her brother). Small, downy blue ears swivelled backwards uncertainly, finding refuge in the tight hedge of silvery hair that was sprouting from the crest below. The show of boldness was easily retracted, and across the bony, pointed hocks beneath the famished rump, her thin, bony, wist-haired tail flicked apprehensively.  Eira missed her mother terribly, more still than as just a source of nourishment, and for the first time since that fateful moment when she’d been torn from her twin’s side (when sight of Cirrus and Kirottu exploding into oblivion had filled her with perplexed dread), the overbearing weight of bewilderment - a confused grief and babyish loneliness - swept suddenly through her. Burning tears welled suddenly beneath her eyes and that trembling facade fell abruptly into a dimpled, upset frown.    The voice of the stranger was without any warmth, and kindness, compassion was all the little filly had ever known; each question carved the jagged line of worry a little deeper through her tender, tired soul, and glassy gaze flitted  sideways through the fence of old wood around them, wanting wretchedly for those dark chiselled features of Indra’s face to emerge from beyond. Not in those moments (or the ones ensuing), did he come.  Still on the verge of crying, she found the painted mare again and beheld her with an increasingly timid regard.  "I’m Eira. I want Indy," she bleated achingly, the first of many molten feelings channelling a stiff line towards her throat. "…I’m hungry." Even though the other had driven a savage stake of distance between them,  the foal, trembling, distressed, and without age or experience enough to understand the response, shuffled nearer; an imploring expression reaching out through her rich, watery blue eyes.

Lines | Colouring