shadow of the bars

GWYN uh-oh, running out of breath, but I oh, I, I got stamina The sorrow and sense of loss seemed to permeate the air still, no matter that the mare had revealed herself. It became more apparent to Gwyn, this strange, overlaying sensation of sadness, as her fear died away, and her heart rate slowly returned to normal. As permeating as the cold and as deep as the fog which swirled around them, there was no denying that something magical was occurring in this space. The filly, however, had never met sentient nature, and thereby could not rationalize that it was the tree who was Uwaritace, not the pegasus. Even when the stranger denies having spoken the word, the girl flatly does not believe her. Her ears fall back, and her lion’s tail takes on more swift sweeps behind her, her irritation with being toyed with by some glowing lady evident in her body language. Still, she had been raised to have some measure of tact, and so, though she wishes to shout at the mare, the maiden instead snorts. “The beasties here don’t talk,” she answers, from her prior experience with the unseen entities of the Rift which her father playfully had deemed "beasties," to come to vast and grave regret upon her over-usage of the term, “they just growl and snarl and try and get you. If it wasn’t the beasties and it wasn’t you, then who was it?”

Image by Jody Roberts@Flickr