"You'll see green alligators and long-necked geese,
Some humpty-backed camels and some chimpanzees,
Some cats and rats and elephants, but sure as you're born,
You're never gonna see no Unicorn."
I feel it. I don't have to think about it I just know that it's REAL. This is the end of the relic quest - I've been EVERYWHERE. Okay maybe not everywhere but it sure as fuck feels like everywhere. Now I haven't searched this prairie, I haven't scoured the earth but fuck it I'm here. The cool spring sun just barely warms my body and I feel wonderful. The prairie is full of greenery, hills, grass. I fall to the ground, not caring who sees my ungraceful descent. I stuff my mouth with grass, enjoying the meal that is like a big damn congratulations. I'm far from the home I've placed myself in. It's deliciously sweet, sinfully sweet. I don't care that I have another long journey to return home. I'll get there eventually. There's no rush, at least not that I'm aware of, and right now I'm enjoying being horizontal. A laugh - a real laugh - passes through tainted ivories, and I rub my horns and forehead against the ground, scoring it and raising worms to the surface. HA!
I glance at the hill and wonder to myself what exactly I'm going to do. Roll down it. That's what I'm gonna do. I tuck my short, thick legs in toward my belly, and begin to spin. The hills are a lazy slope and I don't roll fast - which is good because I don't want to encourage any nausea. Over and over I roll, until I finally reach the bottom of a long, beautiful slope. I let my legs splay out and continue to lie there in the sun. It's great. Perhaps in this moment this is the happiest I've been, the happiest I could be under the circumstances. I'll savor it while I can, thank you very much.
Recovery is spent among the gentle titans; fields of springtide flora seduce us, nursing our diseased memory of the winter valley we forsook. Jaws shred into the prosperous reed; absorbing the energy they offer, restoring and refueling my deprivation. Nestled between pastel and gold, the stunning, itsy miracle of our labor…and though I’ve explored every square inch of her tiny, exquisite frame, my eyes scarcely abandon the cherub – they fall continuously upon her. Miette is an endless source of fascination; fuel for disbelief…how could such a beautiful soul have come to us? Between hearty mouthfuls, my lean crown bends in her direction; exploring, inhaling those shallow, sweet curves for impudent debris. Tender lips sooth frizzled down upon her pristine, tri-colored hide.
Life with our newborn is a breathtaking, discolored smear of sunrises. My orientation into that messy, awkward stage of motherhood gave us the excuse to spend the majority of this past week adjusting in relative peace. During that time, neither of us dare approach the bloodied line of reality; neither would give life to the nightmares behind us. Heavy regret silences my grief for that violent uprooting...though the memory of alien screams and merciless terror is smothering in the backdrop. These lips wouldn’t utter a word of disapproval for our circumstance…how could they? The lure for that wretched danger lingers beneath the awn of an eagle…
…because of me, those demons now ride upon the innocent...
My subconscious arches her figurative brow, unimpressed with my sorrow for strangers, ‘you pity them?’ We’d made neither friend nor foe in that dished out valley…but that didn’t mean this heart didn’t feel the crushing weight of shame…and responsibility. Ears drift rearward, this head lifts to embrace the arid torrents; constantly, they bat the silken threads of obsidian across these narrow cheekbones. Optics narrow upon the smelted horizon of brine and sky. “My fault,” a soft utterance whisked by the jetstream on the cusp of negativity. ‘There was nothing you could've done,’ her voice is tender and even though it tries to sooth me with logic, those words are nothing but tinder for resentment…
…there is always nothing that can be done. I’ve only run and allowed others to become prey…
Idling in the opposite direction...my gaze discovers a purposeful outline against the cool aquamarine backdrop some distance away. On the breast of that nearby dune, it titters...wavering. There isn't time for maternal wariness to ignite, nor curiosity…in seconds these nostrils have flared to sample those tart fragrances in an effort to pluck the stranger from it...and he/she is...falling! A panicked, warning rumble of disorganized sound escapes! Wide shutters fling to my savior as the stranger tumbles haphazardly, “Noah!” concern molds a frantic song, “it hurt?” Whatever infliction caused that misstep…it would surely come into view. On the side closest to our filly, my feathered arm unreels from that sheath and rotates like canopy, casting her fragile body in shadows. Forefeet bend the front of half sideways, forming a wall of humid meat between her and possibility of danger.
Every so often, every few hours, Noah nips unmercifully at his skin…
There is still an element of doubt clouding his mind, suspicion, for it seems to him that their escape from those rabid soldiers and Helovia, has come all too freely; they had tracked his darling dove before, after all. His guard hasn’t lowered since their arrival on this spring-kissed prairie nearly a week ago already - vision of foaming jaws and canine-wings haunt his sleep, trying him, willing away any sense of contentment that dares challenge the stain of worry - and though the image of his healing, blossoming family fills his gallant heart with hope and warmth, he cannot allow himself to dwell for long in their joy.
This cannot last, can’t be real.
There is a breeze, though brisk and chilly, lacking the same wintry bite that has become a rather miserable normal in the months gone by; dew still dampens the soft, tussocky loam through which his heavy, restless hooves graze and it and steam too, rises like a smooth veil of fog all around them. The basin and its own remarkable, revolting weather system (or so quickly became his opinion), held little prejudice towards either sunlight or moonlight, spoiling anyhour available with harrying, icy wind and deep, snarling shadows. Neither threatens their comfort here; the field is vast and flowers grin cheerfully at the gentle, golden sun, odd oaks with sprawling emerald canopies reach far into the blue yonder, and a haze of tiny insects bathe in the quiet morning ambience.
The Eagle is committed to concealing his discomfort - at least as well as he can - for his dove has found a fresh, fond, and sound perspective in motherhood; the helpless babe she nurtures (with beautiful, maternal devotion), has filled the fissure left in wake of terror and agony, and even the visible strain etched through the palest part of her complexion, appears to be easing. Anyway, he cannot be sure… It seems foolish to presume that such a nightmare could so easily be pushed aside, but he stands as their tireless guardian, come what may. It's the best he feels he can do.
A great cloud of darkness, a storm - chaos - brews along the horizon, far, far behind them…
Pensive blue gaze descends momentarily from on high,from watch,to touch on Nora and the coloured, gangly alien that now lies like a starved corpse below wafting, wheaten grass-heads; for a split-second the new father’s heart lurches, she appears motionless, perhaps not breathing, but one pixie toe flinches in slumber and he sighs heavily before turns wistful eyes away.
A flicker of movement against the northern skyline pulls his notice suddenly and golden twins press forward towards it, straining for wind of sound. Nostrils pump greedily at the passing air, pulling pollen and spring dust, though it is devoid of anything useful and a hearty sneeze erupts soon after. Unmistakably a horse, the silhouette folds into the murky breadth of the earth and as his narrowing stare adjusts to the latter (from brighter to darker), he finds the other turning and tossing about. One knee lifts in wary measure as the song of the dove trills through the peace, then drives the hoof below down hard. Ears waver with hesitation as the Eagle tries in vain to make sense of the situation, but his thoughts are already in disarray, and he can muster no sense of confidence.
Never the less, as the other equid begins to tumble, the winged-one bursts into a thunderous sprint and his voice calls out boldly, “…are you injured?”
Apparently not everyone is used to seeing a stallion roll down a hill like a log. Do others not partake of this lazy day, ridiculous activity? No, guess not. For as I lie there in the sun, basking in the warmth of its rays, I hear panic. With a grunt I lift my head and neck, almost shoulders is such my startled reaction. I blink a few times, casting darkness from my sight as I try to take in what's happening -- the foreground cast against a bright blue, cloudless sky. I snort with alarm as I see a pegasus charging towards me. I'm halfway up from the ground, worried that this crazed creature is going to attack me, when I realize he's actually concerned. Oh! Oh... he saw me rolling down the hill and thought I Was... injured, dying, something like that. I finish rising from the beautiful green grass and shake myself out, raising my overall alertness. "Are you injured?" He asks.
I shake my head, snickering under my breath. Pale eyes glance around the charging form to see a painted pegasus shielding a smaller form, more or less hidden from my view. It's hard to tell, but it appears that the mare seems as anxious as the stallion coming toward me. Surely they're not both worried about me? C'mon guys I just took a roll! But then... perhaps from a distance it may have looked worse than it was? I greet the stallion with a calm voice, trying to soothe his concerns. "I'm fine, have no fear." I motion to my unscathed body. "Just a gent having a nice roll, I assure you. You and... your lass?" I motion to the pegasus I see in the distance, making an assumption that they are traveling together. "Don't need to worry about me. I'm Rostislav, by the way." No point in postponing the inevitable introductions. Might as well get to know each other.
Sunlight bursts blindingly from behind the shoulders of towering mountains to the east, and eyes, fearless and true, behold the blazing golden face that smiles down upon them; the beam is contagious (and even as she sleeps), a smile still brighter ignites through that infant, innocent expression. As though born from the very sun itself, myriads of flapping, flailing butterflies appear. They descend in unison around her and she leaps, frolics through their dazzling, rainbow midst - pink, white, yellow, blue, green (even the not so likeable black) - powdery, dainty insects which dance and flutter through the air like a living rainbow.
Miette is enraptured. As she plays (flints fidget and flick in the the grass), a friendly pulse resonates constantly, reassuringly, the steady rhythm that feeds a spritely pattern of impressionable steps. At first, the frivolous foal seems hardly to notice; one ear tilts backwards, but the babe seems oblivious. The sound strengthens, suddenly, drumming an ominous warning through a clouding atmosphere as a colder wind rises to harry her bliss…
It is the thunder of hooves in motion.
Pallid lashes part in an instant, revealing the waking gleam of clean, icy blue within and the threads of curiosity pull her smooth round cheek swiftly from the cushy pillow of sun-kissed grass. Shade has immersed her, just as she'd dreamed; feathers - long and light - are swept like a guardian curtain around the tiny bubble of her existence, and for a brief second, she is stunned, confused. The earth beneath her body vibrates a few moments longer, ceasing as the beat of movement slows somewhere beyond (ahead?); quivering, learning nostrils lift towards that obscuring, glowing ivory veil, panting soft, hot breath against the thin stick-centre of one quill. Ears, pricked and forward-leaning, listen intently for any sound that might betray a situation unfolding, anything – but alas, aside from the shrill song of a nearby thrush, there is naught a murmur to be found.
A sharp, quite dissatisfied snort is ejected.
The taller frame of Ma stands like an obnoxious wall in the way of excitement (behind her lies the same old vast nothing…),and twiggy, clumsy limbs unfurl in a hurry, driving forward that sniffing, rosy nose, right up through the awning - that obstruction. She is bold, brave in the shadow of protection!
There is a green, grassy slope in the distance and she notes Da standing on flatter, foreground, with another horse!
There have been no visitors in their peaceful, tranquil little universe, and the prospect of this arrival - that another should actually exist - is profound, and irresistible. Like a noose around her neck, Ma’s stiff feathers serve to inconvenience accessibility and investigation. Within seconds the tiny, determined and thrilled creature struggles free – eyes fixed fast upon the red-brown figure – prodding with tiny hooves until she is barrelling head over heels in that direction.
Confident that my guardsman would handle the quest of inspecting that disarrayed, rustic visitor (who has alleviated some measure of unease by appearing fit enough to surge up from the pasture) my throttled, high-strung apprehension rotates and narrows upon the distant, careening breast of that offending incline. Mini me floats lazily onto the set with her watertight vessel of skepticism and disquieted features, ‘intentional?’ Her cocked, expectant question is met with taut, frigid silence...despite my tunneled, eavesdropping focus....those definite answers are beyond reach. Illegible murmurs entice these nares to intuitively amplify, indulging upon the banquet of perfumes ripe for taking.
The upset tranquility is further skewed by a far-off multitude of starlings (which appear to be traveling inland from their oceanic hideaway,) their near silent wings flash an impressive variety of blue as they harmonize and reflect the unblinking star. Their cloud-like formation suggests their drove is numbering the hundreds; though miraculously, these dwarfish acrobatics move their hoard as a singular, adaptable entity.
Unbothered by our passive existence, that inky convoy descends quietly behind the questionable apex and sinks once more beyond view. These rigid, wary muscles deliberately unwind '...must’ve been...’ perceptive notions are derailed when a sudden ’rustle’ of movement is all the warning received before her pinkish snout has drove free. Hollows maintain their unyielding cover despite the ease of penetration; pastel shoulders flex, curling my lean face inward to better view the nestling, “salut bébé,” affectionate murmurs appear to fall upon deviated ears; her crystalline gaze is baited elsewhere. With a light sigh of rising bemusement, that extended arm begins to fold inward and draw up with the intention of resettling against the length of my barrel. Concurrently, my fledgling impatiently snaps free, determined to weaver herself onward with those sprig-like pillars. Sun soaked tendrils fly up from their naturally curve dock as I jerk to follow along. Nimble steps effortlessly gain upon those stunted, delicate feet, “facile, Miette!” Warning rims inch lower, twisting and hovering defensively over my babe, compromising the allowance toward her exploratory desires.
