» Hauntings & Healings

The filly wavered after a few, drawn-out moments, hovering between yearning to leave, because the worst of it all seemed over, and there was this insistent, droning, humming sound buzzing through her ears (awful, nothing like her beautiful little bees), echoing along her mind, intertwining its way through her senses until that appeared to be all she knew or understood, and needing to stay. She fought down the waves of panic pulsing along her heart, tried to ease the trepidation away from her chest, breathing in and out slowly, setting her eyes on a thousand different things, objects, patterns, and figures. Her gaze would rest on the still Tamlin, who’d yet to stir at all (and how could she escape if she didn’t know his prognosis? Was he going to be all right?), or flutter over to Iskra and the fellow beasts he’d saved. Her breaths shuddered once or twice, sides heaving briefly, lips trembling in a thin, drawn line, betwixt and between, sentiments occupied and consumed by too many follies, lines, mercurial, capricious dominations.
 
In the end, it all proved to be too much. She’d seen, heard, and experienced enough for one day (especially a child, who’d always strived to be strong, to be bold, to be audacious, completely, utterly defeated by the hands of ghosts and memories) – and she’d have to find another niche to her strength, another way to combine potency with endurance. She was tired, she was worried, she was terrified, and everything overwhelmed her into such a state that all she could do was lean down towards the fallen stag, and whisper her thoughts, her feelings. The girl wished she could’ve stayed (but the murmuring was ongoing, monotonous, a ridiculous torture). “Be well,” were her soft, dulcet whims, before turning, walking quickly, swiftly, shaking her head so the droning could stop (but it didn’t; just as persistent as the phantoms, as the wraiths).
 
The youth’s stare focused on Iskra for a few seconds, yearning to tell him of the spiraling rumbles pounding through her skull – but didn’t know how to say it, couldn’t fathom if anything could be done, if she wanted to drape one more thing across his shoulders. So, in the end, as she began to leave, press back into the darkness (hide a shudder, a tremble, a shake), she called out to him, allowing one side of her lips to crinkle into a soft smile, concealing her horrors. He had enough of his own. “Thank you again, Iskra! I’ll see you! Please be safe!” The voice was so hurried, so ridiculous (even her silly, rushed bow towards the unknown femme), that she fought to roll her eyes (Sila may have done so for her), before rushing back into the bracken, pursued by apparitions she’d yet to get rid of.

Melita

diamond in the flesh

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@Iskra @Tamlin @Zahra {brief mention}