The winter is always different by the sea. She’s bitter and angry, hurting and wild. One might tempt to invite, perhaps embrace her frigid spirit. Forgetting the tears that inevitably follow – brine and sea breeze – digging deep into your bones. It never leaves; her kisses follow with a jealous hold. A fire might seize the cold, the warmth of wood and spark reminding you of balmy, unhindered days. A fat belly, and the welcome touch of sun’s radiant hands. In most cases, reuniting with the elements is a constant affair. Taking pleasure by reminding us of what we left behind.
If only Noëlle could be as vocal as the winds that bash the sea against a rock face. To invoke caution when the winter storms gain unexpected momentum. Unbridled fury, a hollow, strong cry into the void – and to not care what others thought of that. Would unmasking her emotions make her weak? Or strong and brave? She supposed it would depend on whom she placed her worth in. It felt safe to have friends, even if they were strangers that enjoyed your company for only a few moments.
The past day or so remains a blur. Winter merely reminds her that there is still warmth in her core, life – exchanging heat with the cool air. Her body groans, of wanting rest. Youth hides it behind her pale face, and bright blue eyes. Mother has gifted her with a believable mask – and she has worked carefully to bind its edges and mold its appearance. The days of travel behind the young lass have made her absentminded, despite her best efforts. In a numbing fashion, in a protective coating that eases with the winter weather.
It’s in this absentminded haze, that Noëlle miscalculates the distance she needs to pass by the stranger. Equipped with dull senses, she reacts all too slow to parry and avoid her clumsy mistake. Instead, her bulk invades the mare’s space and bumps into her shoulder at an odd angle. Not quite 90, just short of 45 degrees. “O-oh! I’m so sorry!” A familiar, fluttering fluster bubbled in her belly. A bird upset in its cage.
She dipped her head away and stepped back. An amused, heavy laugh – just a small huff and puff escaped her breath. “I should know better miss. Head in the clouds,” she exhaled what remained of the bubbling; the tiny feathers into puffs of heated air. Noëlle’s gaze returned to the pegasi. A meek smile curled favouring the right side. Messy locks of thick and wavy hair spilled between her eyes in the breeze. “Are you alright?”
The stranger was pretty on first glance. Warm hues moved beyond the splash of ivory covering her face. The young woman couldn’t help but notice, perhaps, admire the carriage of feathers held by the mare’s sides. Imagining what it might be like, to send your soul along the tides surrounding clouds. And the ocean of the sky held by each feather.
@Euphrosyne
