[AW] hold warm saltwater in your mouth

[Noëlle]

Living on the move has ingrained a wanderer’s pair of wings within Noëlle’s soul. It lurches out within the confines of a steadfast city. It pulls and chafes against the cage of cobblestones and erected buildings surrounding Terrestella’s capitol. There are times when the noises and smells of the other inhabitants become all together deafening. And the masquerade of pleasant smiles and ‘how do you do’s’ invoke the desire to turn away, and seek refuge in the unknown.

The unknown is the land interrupted only by the breeze coming off the ocean. Or the stillness of a forest covered by first snowfall, giving way to the clack and screech of burdened tree limbs snapping in the distance. There is too much space for your soul to even take flight, to be aware in the vast wilderness ahead. One becomes nothing at all. Perhaps Noëlle savors the authenticity of it all. Danger can be avoided by most precautions but not by all – and despite our best efforts, it raises its head and it has a face and a smell easily discerned by sharp teeth and ill intent.

It doesn’t weigh heavy behind one’s eyes, planted deep on some other plane. Unavoidable, or persistent; seizing control without a moment’s notice. The young woman, or girl – whichever the world believes satisfies the mold – finds the opportunity to explore beyond the city’s grasp. She continues on like she has done since her evacuation from the lands of Nordyls. Neither denying nor realizing the weight she carries for the one she left behind.

Noëlle borrows a small sled for her travels, paying by the day. Wooden boxes take residence on the sled, cushioned by straw and covered by a tarp. Second-hand fabric resides within the boxes, stowed away for the time being. She expects to return in a few days, and packs for the luxury of having a fire or two along the road. Provisions are a luxury she cannot spare the funds for, and sets her way beyond the city gates. While there remains a heaviness beside her, she feels lifted by the quieting noise and the smell of encroaching cedar bark. Memories flood of similar travels, pressed close against her father’s side, reassured by his heavy footfalls leading the way. It saddens her that she cannot place the scent of his hair, or the oils of his skin – the way they flooded her senses with a powerful comfort. Perhaps someday, she will smell him again in a flower, or in the acrid heat of melted iron and soot.

--

Two days have passed by the time she reaches the Praistigia Cliffs. She’s left her things under the cover of a fallen tree, and the bushes surrounding it. Instead, taking a small satchel as she ventures forth. The day is too late to try and carry too much. The idea of scouting ahead appears more feasible and efficient. Before the sun sets she can return to her hiding spot and rest.

The cliffs waft of saline, and fill her lungs with an unforgiveable sharpness. It bites with the moisture; it clings and sticks to the skin. The view is worth every bit of frigid breath that the sea offers. Otherworldly; the young mare stands at a precipice, a gate to the skies and a sudden, jarring death to the underworld. Thick strands of off-white hair lilt and whip past her ashen face, considering the chorus of wave hitting stone. Lulled into a siren’s song, that weaves a rhythm slowly picking up her pace. Everything seems to be vibrating, coiling with energy – the lilting, pull and ebb of the snow is a deceptive cadence showering ahead of the clouds taking station.

Before she can pull away – if she could – she spots a phantom figure below. Surprised at first by its swift movements, and even more so, what could have ushered the urgency that fills the scene. These creatures on the chase reminder her of the Kelpie folk, and even then she can’t be sure or confirm their species. Despite all her travels she has rarely seen or interacted with such people. Their appearance is entrancing; wet, glistening flesh of colors rarely placed on equine form.

Her muscles tighten. Blood rushes to her ears with the subtle increase and exertion of heartbeat. Below it becomes obvious the lone stranger is trapped. The snapping of jagged teeth seems to break past the thunderous tone of wave, and shatters Noëlle’s focus with a jarring realization.

Foolishly the mare shifts, searching for a way down. A craggy path is all that the cliffs can offer. She dares the fates to try and take her life now, as she begins to scale the narrow way. Biting the inside of her cheek when she looses her footing momentarily. Forcing her limbs to slow, and for her lungs to breathe deeply. A grunt leaves her lips, as she jumps off the bottom edge – and into the abyss of sand. She assumes – to some degree – the monsters will be too focused on their prey to notice her approach. And if they did? The mare would have to change course – no easy task, considering the sand…

Armed with nothing but the two sharp horns protruding from her head, she focused on her speed. As she neared, she aimed her shoulder and chest into the closest of the five. Attempting to knock them from their position – possibly open a way for the stranger to push through. A loud, girlish cry broke the air.

ooc// @Lyr -- I know she ain't much but I couldn't help and reply. >P