briar

There are many memories and ideas that Briar can dwell on. The suffocation of her mother, the mottled face of her father, the killing blow of her mother’s head against a rock . . . This she imagines with a shake of her head, gemstone eyes sorrowful and anxious. The wine-stained mare has no idea what her bruised mother will do without her. Briar knows she has nothing left, and still she turned away from her without so much as a look back.

This guilt—insufferable, horrid, and such mundane guilt—writhes in her chest like a trapped and infuriated snake.

Still, the dark woman wears a smile on her face (even if it is painful). The grimace in her eyes is an easy tell to what actually races in her mind, but Briar hardly lets anyone get close enough to see.

Secrets are near and dear to heart: misgivings, mistakes, countless nights of restless shame. These quiet and solemn thoughts she keeps to herself, never allowing anyone to touch those barbs that stab deeper into her heart with each facade. That smile, though—that smile is just brilliant enough to distract from her thorny features.

Bright and sunny, that is what Momma called her.

If only she could see me now.

Ever persistent, that she is; and she sheds this mournful skin just in time to kiss the flowers that surround her hello. What fear that rested at the corner of her lips fades, and new healthy shimmer settles over her face. These late flowers have survived just enough of the autumn to greet Briar on her trek to find . . . anything (including these peachy petals).

It is the sound of a sob that jerks her head away from the colors reflecting on her dark muzzle. Concern is clear in the wrinkle of her eyes as she scans the tall grass to find the cry’s source.

The tall ears of a black and white creature find her gaze—the dark red woman sets off into a brisk trot, certain that she must help whoever else is mourning. A distraction from her own suffering, perhaps, though Briar certainly does not realize this.

“Uh . . . .hello?” she murmurs hesitantly. The young woman finds herself peering gently down at what appeared to be a heartbroken equine. “Do you need help?” It is a silly thing to ask, this Bri knows. She is just old enough to recognize that sometimes suffering does not mean immediate distress, and yet . . . she lingers.

@briar || i don't mind at all ahhhhh

briar

Mother will cry for me.

Briar can hear the quiet sobs that grow into real, pained screams. She can see her mom as she throws her head into a tree and falls apart—again and again, pale red fur ruffling by the cruel bark of a tree, spindly and broken antlers tangling in low-hanging branches, eyes bloodshot as snot drips from her nostrils.

Perhaps that is why she lingers.

Araxes, in her own miniscule way, reminds Briar of the mother that lives on in her head; and if she cannot save that mother, then perhaps she can save the piece of her this stranger holds.

“Are you sure . . .” the wine-stained mare whispers in response, blinking gemstone eyes down at the now weak-smiling woman. Briar simply shakes her head and smiles when the striped girl mentions putting her in distress. She does not feel any particularly distress, unless one considers her desperate need to soothe any aches distress.

Briar’s new companion rises to all four hooves, so she takes a couple of steps back to allow her room. The tips of her ears quiver when Dusk Court leaves Araxes’ lips. Bri’s eyes light up like the sun just breaking over the horizon.

“Araxes . . . lovely name. You’re a part of the Dusk Court? I, uh—I just settled into Terrastella as a soldier, though I must admit I do not know much of fighting.” This she admits with a shy smile and kick of her right hoof into the dry dirt. Though she knows little, an itching in chest begins to build, one that speaks of secret excitement with the idea of physical sparring. Despite her upbringing, there is an unforgiving and ferocious creature just rumbling to life inside of her.

“Are you new to . . . um, Novus, is it? I don’t much of the people . . . or the religion . . . or anything.”

Briar rambles in the hopes that it might distract Araxes from whatever she may be suffering through. She is young and naive but is trying her best.