Scint River
08-11-2017, 07:42 PM
Zahra & Ilham
It was pride that turned angels into devils
The sting of hurt pulled a frown to her lips.
All present, and the newest - loose-lipped - filly, all seemed perfectly at ease with the concept that a babe so young (so undeniably tiny), should be one easily and perfectly accepted, even normal. Her apparent wrong doing was unanimously voiced, contemptuously so, and Zahra hadn’t the energy to retaliate to the united dressing down of her well meant compassion and concern; without a word she slid from the company of the unfair crowd through the sucking slick of bank, until a healthy distance had been placed between.
Despite the thick humidity and the water streaming by, she felt a sudden desperate thirst; like the skin canvassing her had dried and the flakes begun to itch. She couldn’t have known the source - the Rift was unpredictable, though it did seem odd when she’d spent (easily) months, soaked through.
She should have known, should have remembered. Perhaps on a subliminal level, that was why she cared.
Once upon a time it had been Zahra who’d stood alone and half-starved like the colt; in all honesty, the yearling - the bronze coloured filly - had been the least of her concern, and barely a breath had been spared in that direction. Never the less, it was not they which had pulled her from the quiet of the dewy forest behind. Dimmer eyes rock to the formidable figure of the god, and the curious bonelights which they’d been told not to touch.
