She finds it odd – the effect we have on each other: fear, awe, distrust. Imprinting on each other reflections of our selves on the strangers we pass by. Or perchance – those of whom we bump and collide. What is it that allures us? That beckons when we guard our hearts, holding us against a precipice?
The young woman stands hopeful, her efforts trying at times. It seems easier, logical to paint the world in darkness. To boil down choices and decisions purely on wants and desires, for power and control – and perhaps it does come to that eventually. Perhaps good nature is merely a ploy to ignore the turmoil that bleeds into the soil.
Indeed, it is odd to feel as if she has been the cause for the mare’s hesitation or mistrust. Reminding herself that it's only fair to expect a superficial contract at best. In these wild lands, ruled by its secrets and lore beyond Noëlle’s recollection and knowledge.
The stranger smiles – a thread of warmth emits from the blush that creeps up into her eyes. Offering to embolden Noëlles bashful grin. She admires the beauty that envelops the micro expressions in her companion, her eyes that soften while maintaining a show of vitality.
I like your scarf.
“Ah, do you?” Pale eyes beam with a spark of joy. She speaks out in surprise – relief sinking into her shoulders, even if the doubt of her labours adds scrutiny in her voice. She lifts the edge of the cotton scarf into the light that surrounds them, deep indigo, with a faded appearance. Piercing through the thin fabric, there is evidence of dark stains that bleed in and out.
“It isn’t my best work,” She laughs shortly. “But I like the colour. Would you believe me if I said I had used boiled cabbage to dye the material?” Her laughs are reminiscent of a child, of foalish days escaping the mediocrity of rules – and the land of adult pragmatism.
This space between them becomes familiar and forgiving of her intrusion.
Where are you from?
“Terrastella, south from here. Though I suppose… I can’t quite call myself a true inhabitant.” It didn’t seem appropriate. She hadn’t done enough to root herself there; perhaps it hadn’t quite felt like a home yet. Even if the relative peace of the lands had offered some semblance of a normal life – she felt more than grateful for – a life less chaotic and constrained by the lands of Nordyls. Or simply time had yet to tell, if she was loyal to its people and kingdom.
She quiets and watches as the stranger moves out from the covers of the forest. Stretching out her feathered appendages in the light, giving off an ethereal glow through the delicate primary fibers of each wing. Fascinated by their graceful untwining, as they finally condense at either side. The silence did not faze the traveler, taking in her simple delights.
We can be friends.
She raises her gaze, blinking briefly at the sudden interjection.
What should I call you?
She casts her gaze away. Casually moving closer, with an invigorated step as she tossed her head into the path left behind. “Noëlle,” she tilts her head, locks of missed strands and tiny braids fall into her eyes regarding the pegasi.
“And you my friend? Do you have a name?”
A grin becomes a smile, becoming certain and more aware of this brief connection. Growing privy to the possibilities offered by companionship, highlighted by the stark stretches of silences one expects on a journey.
“I was told these lands are dangerous. They said it’s easy to lose your way here off the paths. When the trees begin to blur all the same, and the sun begins to dip too low… How have you managed this terrain? Do you find them as dangerous as they say they are?”
Hearsay and word of mouth had some element of truth to it. But often required some amount of deconstruction to grasp any notable information. She was curious if the pegasi knew any better, or if she considered the fabric of the forest in an entirely different perspective.
Noëlle
