Already she was regretting her decision to stay put.
The black and white mare and the kindly, compassionate stallion had requested she travel with them - for safety, company and care - but Eira had reluctantly declined the invitation. She’d spent a day without her brother, wandering, searching, calling out his name through the rain until her throat ached and fatigue had set in. Still, she was restless and unwilling to submit to her own growing weariness while he was roaming all the while, no doubt calling for her.
“Indra!” she called, softly now, tiredly, dragging too the tiny hooves which had in spritely fashion carried her away from him in the first place. “Oh where’ve you got to…” Glazed blue eyes roamed the landscape, peering with withering focus between the grey faces of the old timber, admiring their remarkably scribbled faces, dancing upwards towards their leafy extremities - which, she could barely make out through the obscuring film of cold, stinging rain.
In truth, the tiny foal could hardly tell where she was going; she meant to be venturing back through the distance which brought her here, but there was no telling exactly which was that was, or which way she was heading… so too was she starting to feel the sting of hunger in her belly again, and the audible rumble - though entertaining - was enough to spur a disapproving frown across her lips. Lanky limbs paused abruptly, and she thought back to the explanation Eleos had given about what too look for when she needed to eat.
So much time had passed since then… she was sure.
She began to survey the greener deposits in the forest - the leaves (the smaller, less intimidating varieties), the ferns and the moss! Eira was so sure that the mare had mentioned something important about the soft-looking, enticing green rock carpet, and she eyed it now longingly, driving her trembling maw in towards a bright layer.
08-10-2017, 07:18 PM (This post was last modified: 08-10-2017, 07:38 PM by Varuna.)
VARUNA
You grow bored of the caves in Ultima. The tight spaces and below-water atmosphere has begun to make you claustrophobic, so you decide to try your hooves at a bit of a exploration. You are growing ever braver, and ever taller. Your legs grow stronger and you've learned to eat leafy food instead of just mare's milk. It isn't as filling, but it makes you feel less of a child.
You are the spitting image of your father, with all the rebellious spirit of the storms your mother commanded. Her absence pains you less and less every passing day, the memory of her fading quickly. It's a shame, truly. Young Azulee was not the most adept of mothers; she was cold and distant, explosive in her temper and lacking in patience. But she loved you (if perhaps a bit begrudgingly) and she would have reared you to be a skilled warrior, worthy of your heritage.
No matter. You know not of such things and brooding on what might have been is futile. The now is happening.
And in this now, the shadows of the rainforest creep in closely around you. Rain falls from the broad leaves in the canopy above, which sift out the rest of what little sunlight is showering down from the sky to begin with. It is eerie. You swear the shade has eyes and sharp teeth glittering where you cannot see them. They stare at you from the cold wet with predatory contempt, playing havoc with the light at the corners of your gaze.
You don't feel safe. Not that you were ever safe, with the doom of the demon Kaos looming over Helovia like a stormcloud that leached all good feeling from the world, and now having been swallowed up by this strange and dangerous realm... and orphaned - but that part is totally normal to you. That is all you know.
As you make your way through the greenery, your hooves getting caught in the tangle of the foliage underfoot, you spot a blue shape a few strides away. You hearken yourself, ears trained forward curiously and posture drawn up tall as possible. You snort, testing the scent, wary of all things unfamiliar in this new territory. You bob your head around like a bird, studying the creature until you notice that it's a horse, and a winged one just like you! Your puff-ball of a tail wags on your haunches, and you make to approach the filly, giving a nicker in greeting.
You take off at a trot, but you misjudge your agility. Your small, untrained hooves are clumsy in this terrain and snag on some vines. With a loud "OOmph!" you tumble through the brush, almost colliding with the filly.
Your heart rises into your throat as you fall, right into a patch of briars. You let out a squeal.
Little blue foal, with your sparkling gaze and your ever soft touch, you move to sample the delightful looking moss, though little are you aware of it’s blood-curdling scream. You have heard it before - that splitting sound through the trees - yet, innocent all the same is your intention to feed.
There comes a different sound, however, to woo your focus and lure away your interest; it’s friendly sound intrigues your ears and quickens the drum of your young, vibrant heart. That tiny skull lifts quickly, without hesitation, and it collides into the swollen underbelly of an utterly enormous leaf balanced overhead; the rims bend and water pours from its cup, down across your pretty chiselled features and then in splashing rivulets, off away to the ground.
Stunned by the chill and caught by surprise, you stand stuck with spluttering breath for a moment, with water-matted lashes fluttering about.
Still, the moment of distraction is brief, for that call - so like Indra’s - is firmly woven through your mind; it breeds a murmur of determination. When the channels ease their flow, and your eyes again are free, you discover that the stranger is upon you, stumbling, tumbling, through the undergrowth. A startled squeal slips your lips with his, and you stagger with perfectly equal grace as his lumbering path concludes amid a sprawl of sinister thorn.
For a time you simply stare, with a neck slumped low for vantage until the tickle of over-thrilled wing beats irritates your breast. Stop, you tell them vainly, they’ve never listened before and your plush, pale blue maw moves to push them into rest.
The wings perched atop each flank give you hardly the same grief.
Your gaze still sits squarely upon the foal - the colt - as he struggles in the briar and you think to yourself, he looks real funny, giggling your sweet amusement into the humid, smelly air between. But as the seconds bleed by, you move to be more useful, stepping a neat cloven hoof to pin a length down. “Thith way,” you grin, gesturing with a small swing of your face and twitch of quilled wings (the larger, obedient pair).
You notice as you wait, with everlasting patience, that his breath is hoarse - a quiet roar - and in thoughtful contemplation, your head veers sideways. “You ok?” Though still the smile is wrapped snug around your mouth, there is a faint flicker of concern peaking through your tone.
Rainforest Cliffs
