[AW] stormchild, are you listening

[Weir]

home is behind the world ahead there are many paths to tread The night she was born was a storm of ice and snow flying through a sky of obsidian. The wind wailed across the tops of evergreens and cold seemed like it would never end. It sounded as demons howled in the shadows, riding on the backs of predators that smelled the afterbirth and thought there would be an easy meal. A pale worm like body covered in crimson and the cheesy paste all newborn humans have when they gasp their first attempt at breating, lungs inflating until they can exhale out a cry. Weir’s mother reached for her child, hoping that there would be a bulge between those chubby pink and slimy legs but the look on her face was a complex mix of anguish and joy. The storm rolled on and lasted for many more days before Weir could be presented to her father, the king. He took one look at the albino spawn in his mistress’s arms and immediately condemned both to never return. Walking back into the woods, her mother carried the ice storm bastard. Storms in spring are not unheard of but they are not typical. The colors behind the dark clouds reflected across curved orbs as she stared at the storm in the distance. In the light of the lightning flashes, she appeared like a scarred ghost with massive skeletal horns. The necklace of six red weirwood leaves preserved in amber on the back tip of her caribou horn clinked in rhythm with the gusts of wind. Long straight silver tendrils of mane and tail whipped furiously in the gusts that tried to knock her off balance. She weaves her way towards the cliffs of the terminus sea that overlooked the churning abyss that separated the dusk and night courts. Storms are in the very fibers of Weirs soul for she came into this world in a storm, she will probably be leaving this world in a storm so she shows no fear. She is comforted by the cyclones of air and the streaks of light that cracked and boomed behind the watercolors in the sky. The buzz of the electrical clouds passed in waves, dying down and then picking up. Eventually her rosy hooves passed over one last hill that led to a ledge that overlooked the waves below. In all the chaos there stood a Pegasus. Weir knew the storm would silence her approach. She surveyed this winged, silver-haired mare from a distance and noticed there is a calm to her and she lacked any tension in the whipping winds. How unusual. Finding solace in a stranger who is as comfortable as she in this storm, she approached on the side of this stranger and walked up to the cliff edge. She looked out at the dark, white-capped waves for a short time before looking over at the stranger and getting a better look of her in the flashes of light that broke the blanket of watercolor. Hello stranger. It’s a beautiful evening wouldn’t you agree? She half smiled warmth that cut the biting cold of the rain before looking back out over the sea. @Aislinn <3

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