| Subject: -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- ... Equi ... -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- |
Author:
Chaos
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Date Posted: 12:35:41 03/30/01 Fri
Author Host/IP: a050-0453.flnt.splitrock.net/63.252.145.199
In reply to:
Equi
's message, ":::. ...Chaos... .:::" on 09:49:46 03/30/01 Fri
*Pausing in her steady, sweeping motion, the delicate mare drops her eyelids in pain as she listens to the faint outcry from afar, the drumming of restless hooves, the screaming, painful notes of his heavy voice. A tremulous snort bubbles forth, escaping her, hooves suddenly leaden and fastened sharply into the ground. She could not move... she had to. His faint words, barely audible from the distance at which they break, shriek like bodiless harpies, swooping around her thin neck, tangling in her mane, clawing her pinched eyes. If he loved her, why did he claim to love another as well? It was true, stallions had a right to claim mares as they pleased; the thought makes her restless. This steed was magnificent, he was different - why had he misused her trust, and now claimed to wish to return it to her, tattered and torn? A single, solitary tear trickles from her cramped eyelid, rolling smooth as rain down her russet cheek in a dash of longing, a healing of his promise to her. A heavy sigh crimping, then releasing her slender frame, she clenches her teeth together in an involuntary spasm of pain. Why did she do this... why did she trust... how could she... why had she hurt him... One hoof lifting, torn from its anchorage in the clammy moss below, sunlight intruding from the holes in the canopy above, she stutters into motion, sandwiched between the two extremes, days old and now inedible. Small, compact hooves rising and slamming with force into the soft ground, each drumming a dull rhythm into the snap of pine needles, she presses onward, restrained, hesitant, afraid. Each hoofbeat pressed like muffled breath into the ground, unsteady and yet solid, her eyes grow dim, two-dimentional. Following the somber cry from the steed she loved so much, she clenches her teeth in a weak effort to remove the returning pain, one she hated, had grown accustomed to. Adorning her shoulder like a phantom, her chest like a hood ornament, her poll like a crown of thorns, the hateful, familiar ache snickers haughty, always in the background, never able to be removed. A bloodstain from her wounded heart, the ghost deepens his mocking laugh, terrorizing her effort to love again. And with one final step, she finds herself upon the stud, one fore slamming down in finality like a Spanish dancer, heels clicking sharply into place. Her voice is hushed and painful, dull, deeply remorseful.* Equi... I am sorry. I will not leave you - I have promised I would not. I am not one to break my vows, unless the other end is not kept up. I will stay.
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