Rainforest Cliffs
The jagged western skyline, once painted with rich forest-hues and crisp earthen-brown, was indistinguishable beneath the thick blanket of sunken cloud and unrelenting rain. To the north, the enormous portal stood like an ominous beacon - a great, gaping mouth – and south, the soft whisper of water-washed leaves tempted her resolve to weaken; so much easier it would be to fold back into the familiar shadows of the old rainforest, which had become home. “Soon…” she thought pensively, retiring her quiet eyes upon the trail, which had, barely moments before, arrived her at this point. “…we will be together again, Indy”. Eira drew the bony arms of each long wing in sung against her soggy, overgrown coat and shivered - both for the chill gnawing constantly at her tired, undernourished bones, but also for the thrill of the wide unknown beyond her little hillock. From somewhere below, a queer howl rose up through the rain. Downy ears, pricked and listening noted the sinister note in the sound, and the lean legs trembled, turning, guiding her scrawny body away into the sanctuary of the tree-scape. Even despite the wretched, ugly nature of her appearance – the crippled bend in each forelimb, the barbered, broken length of each quill – there was too, undeniable charm in every slow movement, impossible confidence, a perfectly fragile picture; how could a creature as obviously unwell as she, survive the Rift for so long? She slipped between the mossy stones and bright, watered undergrowth with care and precision, sensibly leaving no trace of herself for the predators lurking to follow. When the dreary, overcast dimness of evening began at last to descend, Eira was scrabbling down the slippery stone track that carved cliff-side access to the beach (there was a cave called Ultima, whose underground corridors allowed some warmth). The sand was soupy, sucking at each chipped hoof as she hastened along, the best way that she could. The deep shade of the rock wall lifting alongside to her right and boulders (larger than she), tumbled-down together to the left, skewed view of the mammoth until his deep voice rumbled forward in greeting. The shaggy-coated filly leapt away, startled, pressing tightly against the cold, wet cliff as she scanned each dark shape before her; picking out eventually, the softer line of feather and fur. Nervous eyes adjusted quickly to his colour – the unusual combination of creatures that seemed to contribute to his making – and while he stood with generous distance between them, Eira’s own rigid posture began to ease. To her surprise – in response to the question the stranger posed - it wasn’t the face of her beloved twin, that rose to the forefront of her mind. “Him?” the face of a healer, a hero, with a plush pink nose as soft as the downy plumage beneath her wings. “Where is Vynter?” With a solemn expression cresting slim, gaunt features and eyes downcast upon the dulled, golden sand beneath her hooves, the young horse recalled the moment her friend pulled free of their embrace – the warmth - and vanished quickly into the forest. |
