» every broken promise

There is energy in your veins, burning power - magic - and though you are none-the-wiser (it has never come to fruition), the feeling makes you restless, roused by a certain, unheard hum in the air. Little blue foal, your legs tremble as you drive a staggered path towards the soft beckoning beat, and your ears dance eagerly, excitedly, above the silvery wisp of mane dressing your poll. Those bright blue eyes through which you see the world spinning by, blink and flutter in the dank, dreary light, but the heart beneath your soft, matting pelt, pulses to the tune of oblivious bliss.  Thought of your mother, of your father have withered like the old, forgotten leaves of autumn and this humid, green wilderness which has become something like your home, stands as a constant distraction, should any flicker of memory arise to confront you.  Indra - your heart, your soul - he is missing once again and though you pine for him with every waking moment, every single inch of your being, better mortal necessities have kept you far from the search. Even without him, you have found that you can actually survive; but it requires all of your strength, effort and concentration. Foliage and bark have become the main source of your nutrition, but you need to be careful about which you sample; the rock velvet screams when you touch it and pastel-blue flowers bring sleep. Practice makes perfect, as you know.  For now, your stomach is happily filled, you have worked hard all morning, foraging, browsing and exploring those vast pathless corridors of trees (that never seem to sit in the same position, from one day to the next). You find that the rain has paused for the first time in forever, and you delight in the relative dry, even despite every brush against vegetation soaks you back through. Your steps are lighter, brighter - there is spring in your stride - and you dance on to the rhythm and that call in your heart.  It leads you astray, even further the trees, and to your surprise, that wall of doom and gloom has peeled away to the north. You gaze down the length of valley, towards a swollen river down below, and lingering together upon the banks appear to be a group of others; and beyond them still, a massive monster’s impression. Your tiny hooves defy the thrum of magic as it surges, and you hesitate, uncertain because He strikes a note of fear in y our young mind. For a moment longer, you consider, fidget the fine ashen quills otherwise fixed against your flanks.  But curiosity is a pressure you struggle to flout and it takes you merely minutes to canter forth and join their meeting. The first to find your eye is the small black colt met just a day or two ago, you bound towards him without restraint, with no reserve, for you very innocently presume him to be a friend (isn’t everyone?). “Hey Vuna!” your feathery voice ignites, and though the God behind him looms, commands and consumes your flighty notice, you plant your tiny body as close to the familiar figure as the big horse beside him will allow, shiver there unsurely, and watch.

Lines | Colouring