The Pinnacle
04-06-2018, 10:15 PM
Eira...
The smooth drawling caress of the pale mare’s question pulled Eira free from her wandering thoughts. It was easy for the dreamer to lose herself and the small grip she had on reality, when the avalanching memories began to tumble like lucid visions around her; one triggered by another, and then another, and another… Eyes, solemn and unsettlingly old, turned to see Valkyrie gaze down at her and she realised then, that she had come to be leaning on her, the exquisite figure of a horse. The wings which had sparked such curiosity in the rainforest before, hung like heavy ears below each of the real, slim white and erect upon her poll. Stunning volumes of clean, pallid hair moved about her face and neck like free-flowing water; or a frame, around the chiselled, sophisticated features of her face. Realising that she was staring, dark lashes dipped across her hollowed eyes coyly. “I’m Eira…” her heart offered bravely, though no words quirked her sooty lips, nor sound emerged to infiltrate the cheery ambience. The starved foal (for she certainly still appeared to be one; stunted and gangly), hadn’t spoken a word since the river… since the realisation of her loss had, at that point, dawned. Instead, her earnest, trusting and candid gaze conveyed forth without trying, the immeasurable hurt and mental torment which she suffered through each second. Eira smiled softly, nodding her too-large head. As Valkyrie’s attention slipped away to examine her (the way they all seemed inclined to), the filly’s own interest turned to the crevice and the tall silhouette which was emerging from it’s glowing centre. Matted ears reached forward towards the spectacle, as did her wondering eyes, and curious soul; her body and very essence seemed altogether drawn by the materialising, antlered stranger, and as the goddess paused by the Matron before then all, the orphan held her breath. "I am a book of snow, a spacious hand, an open meadow, a circle that waits, I belong to the earth and its winter." |
