bulletholes in my heart

Eira... ‘Ay-rah!’  The shadows were calling… ‘AY-RAH!’ Nestled beneath the heavy boughs of gnarled, ashen timber, the tiny orphan hid timidly from the darkness which slipped and slithered like a hunting serpent through the strange, neon forest all around her. With sombre blue eyes fixed upon its fluid lip - trained to each sly swoop and swirl - she scarcely noticed her name as it was born upon the thick, pregnant air. As it grew in both strength and proximity, however, the nervous flutter of downy blue ears swivelled forward, tasting with surprise that fond familiarity, and her gaze diverted suddenly.  Indra?  "Indra…!" Her voice lifted through the humidity with a renewed sense of hopeful vigour, forgetting with childish narrow-mindedness, the predatory fog which had ravaged her bones and seared her collar; the miniature wings (barely larger than the size of Da’s hoof), left behind, fluttered wildly on their own accord, and the putrid smelling acid-burn between them, still ached awfully. So too had a scalding, bumpy rash risen across the delicate young skin towards the centre of her belly. Though small, it caused her severe irritation, and constantly, unwittingly, she kicked at hard its surface.   "Indra?" She called again, feathery voice shrill with desperate anticipation. Delicate hooves scrabbled clumsily beneath the weight of her trembling, starving body, and the legs which flung about between, were weak and reluctant. Always the little winged filly searched through the overgrowth, longing for any sign that it was indeed her brother’s voice that she followed.  "I am a book of snow, a spacious hand, an open meadow, a circle that waits, I belong to the earth and its winter."

- Pablo Neruda, Winter Garden
@Indra Sorry about the fail double tag <3