"and tonight the stars are running away from me."
The ocean water feels like the waters of rebirth lapping at her hooves. Each crash of salt-water against her bones feels colder than she remembers it feeling. Her skin feels as dry as desert sand and she thinks that maybe every inch of her might feel the water as the strangely as the canyons feel the snow. This should feel like home. The salt should feel like a mountain wind in her lungs. Each tangle of seaweed clinging to her should feel like a caress of a sea-beast that's always been waiting to take her back down to the deep, dark bottom of the ocean.
But nothing feels like home anymore.
Isra misses the soot and spice arcing above her in trellises of smoke. She misses her castle with spires of moonlight striking through the windows like swords swinging against the darkness. She misses her shining city on the hill. Even the fury running in hot-water waves through her has never been able to chase away the way her dreams always run back to constellations and bonfires.
Even Fable, who is swimming through the waves, misses his towers looking out over the sea (or towards the mountains if he only turns his gaze a little to the right). The fish in this part of the sea are not as sweet and their bones feel sharper against his teeth when he chews them. He's far out to sea but his heart is wandering back home with his unicorn's and they both turn their gazes (one in the deep and one in the sunlight) back towards the mountains looming too far in the distance to cool their sorrow like the water cools their fury.
Isra's steps carry on her aimlessly, through the sand and dunes. She leaves a wake of pearls and ore in the crevices her hooves make in the sand. Each pit glints like a bit of space fallen to earth in the sunlight, a black that shines even as it swallows all the sunlight like a monster. Dune grass turns to pillars of gold and silver where it grabs greedily at her tail as she passes. All the sea and shore seems to bend towards her, this unicorn who changes the world below her shadow into dream stuff and nightmare-stuff.
She notices nothing but the sorrow lingering like a sickness in her heart and the steady beat of a dragon heart echoing in the place behind her eyes. She almost misses the towering stallion and the young foal at his side. She definitely misses the shine of metal that catches the sunlight in a way that metal should not (like something she's dreamed up with magic).
Isra looks up just as she walks her shadow into their own, each stretching out over the sea until the white-washed waves swallow up the shape of them all. She smiles even though her horn sighs out into the space between them like a warning that says in wind and bone, I am always ready, always full of fury. But today with the sea a sting in her nose and an ache in her soul she does not want to be like her horn-- not today, but maybe tomorrow.
“Hello,” Isra says with a glint in blue eyes that doesn't look totally kind (she's forgotten how to be all kindness and empathy). But it tries, that shimmer of sorrow in her eyes, it tries so very hard to be kind. “Are you lost?” This she asks because they look as strange as the places where the shoreline met her magic.
Isra has always had a weakness for strange things, for strangeness has always belonged to the dreamers.
And all the dreamers belong to her.
@Illu
But nothing feels like home anymore.
Isra misses the soot and spice arcing above her in trellises of smoke. She misses her castle with spires of moonlight striking through the windows like swords swinging against the darkness. She misses her shining city on the hill. Even the fury running in hot-water waves through her has never been able to chase away the way her dreams always run back to constellations and bonfires.
Even Fable, who is swimming through the waves, misses his towers looking out over the sea (or towards the mountains if he only turns his gaze a little to the right). The fish in this part of the sea are not as sweet and their bones feel sharper against his teeth when he chews them. He's far out to sea but his heart is wandering back home with his unicorn's and they both turn their gazes (one in the deep and one in the sunlight) back towards the mountains looming too far in the distance to cool their sorrow like the water cools their fury.
Isra's steps carry on her aimlessly, through the sand and dunes. She leaves a wake of pearls and ore in the crevices her hooves make in the sand. Each pit glints like a bit of space fallen to earth in the sunlight, a black that shines even as it swallows all the sunlight like a monster. Dune grass turns to pillars of gold and silver where it grabs greedily at her tail as she passes. All the sea and shore seems to bend towards her, this unicorn who changes the world below her shadow into dream stuff and nightmare-stuff.
She notices nothing but the sorrow lingering like a sickness in her heart and the steady beat of a dragon heart echoing in the place behind her eyes. She almost misses the towering stallion and the young foal at his side. She definitely misses the shine of metal that catches the sunlight in a way that metal should not (like something she's dreamed up with magic).
Isra looks up just as she walks her shadow into their own, each stretching out over the sea until the white-washed waves swallow up the shape of them all. She smiles even though her horn sighs out into the space between them like a warning that says in wind and bone, I am always ready, always full of fury. But today with the sea a sting in her nose and an ache in her soul she does not want to be like her horn-- not today, but maybe tomorrow.
“Hello,” Isra says with a glint in blue eyes that doesn't look totally kind (she's forgotten how to be all kindness and empathy). But it tries, that shimmer of sorrow in her eyes, it tries so very hard to be kind. “Are you lost?” This she asks because they look as strange as the places where the shoreline met her magic.
Isra has always had a weakness for strange things, for strangeness has always belonged to the dreamers.
And all the dreamers belong to her.
