[P] A blood-red thing

[Isra]

“Do you not know?” She's startled enough by his questions to leave the shadows despite that tail resting lazily at his back. There's a fear in that voice, a worry that perhaps the rest of the world doesn't know what horrors hide behind the now open gate.  Isra doesn't even realize that she's only repeated his question back at him, doesn't realize that she's done anything as reckless as lunge toward him. In her panic she's lost control of her hooves. They only remember how to run, run, run as the red stallion reminds her of what horrors she's returned to. The too tight skin across her back feels raw again as if the embers and falling trees are lashing once more at her back telling her that she's not fast enough to survive. Did the rest of the world not know that they burned? Did they not see the smoke and wonder that perhaps it was a signal that innocent things are dying, trees that lived to see the creation of this world erased in no more than a blink of an eye? Or did they just not care that wildlife was turned to dust when they lay comfortable with festivals and opiates in their futures? “A dragon burned the pass and turned anything there to ash and they closed the gates so that nothing might come or go.” She blinks and her words feel coarse as if her lungs still burn with soot and smoke. This is a story she doesn't want to tell (to remember) and she swings her head towards her shoulder to hide the gathering tears. Isra cannot look at him now, her surprise is replaced by sorrow and she already leans back into the shadows. “I was there with the wildlife in the pass when it started to burn. Barely did I make it down the mountains. I ran myself raw to warn the others, to tell them that we all must run.” Still she whispers even as she body seems to melt in the darkness, as if she is nothing more than a ghost who has used up all the magic just to say a few simple worlds. “You shouldn't be here with freedom a scent upon your skin.” Her horn flashes in the light, a useless weapon. It glimmers as if to promise that there is nothing to be done against dragon fire, dragon hate. That horn is a warning too, that his sword will find him no freedom here, no hope. “When I found the rest of the court they all just stood like stone, as if the fire was expected. I could have been a breeze in their mist for all they cared that things were dying up there in the mountains. They said it was for the best, for protection.” Isra feels as if she's dying again. It feels like the sea is drowning her all over again. There is no joy in this story, only a nightmare of words that turn vicious for the life she gives them with her story-teller whispers.   This story is a demon and it consumes her. “And then they left, turned back to their castle while the mountains smoldered.” There is nothing left to her now, nothing but hollow bones that hoped once to find salvation here where the air smelled like  jasmine and spice. Once she thought the moon and stars over the night market the loveliest thing she had ever seen. Once she loved her freedom, loved the way her skin was so light without chain and shackles. Now it feels only like a death sentence. And as she turns back towards this stallion and lets him see that fear and hopeless in her gaze she promises that nothing else will suffer as she did. Perhaps, she hopes, her story might save him from going deeper into this devil's den. It is the only salvation she has to offer. “Come. Let me show you a way out. There is nothing for you here but ghosts and devils.” The words come out as nothing more than a broken sigh. Eagerly she starts to turn. Her bones still scream at her to run, run, run. * * * * * let the ghosts sing me to sleep @Raymond