Her death hit in waves. Not a flood, but water lapping steadily at her ankles. You could drown in two inches of water. Maybe grief was the same.
Returning to Solterra offers the chance for adventure she has been waiting for. She wants to see the dunes again, picture them, hold them in place until she can put paint to canvas and capture it there. She is so like her mother at this age, so soft and bright, so curious.
She has seen her mother’s brokenness, of course, but she cannot fathom that she had ever been anyone but who she is now, strong, if not quieter than what she had been, not quite as bright as the afternoon sun, but more the soft glow of her mother in the early mornings. Her mother was steadfast, compassionate, and courageous. But Elli does not know the woman who was so reckless with her heart and her soul. The woman who was much quicker to smile and make friends than she is now.
But Elena still shares stories, of times before, when she didn't have her heart locked down so firmly in her chest,
One of her favorite stories is when her mother and godmother met the man of Frost in a spring meadow. They stared down winter with all the warmth and fire of summer. They were just fillies then, little girls who before this had been admiring flowers (sure one was an orphan and one was unknown to a father.) But there were still childhood pieces tucked inside them (‘for safekeeping,’ she imagines her mother saying, just as she does when she stick flower petals under their pillows for wishes later). And the winds blew in her mother’s godfather and the silver regent who melted the ice with but two singular glances. Maybe her mother was not the hero of the story, but Elli still admires her for it.
What would she do if she ran into winter on a spring day?
She would pull a hood up over her head and brace herself for the blizzard.
She cannot think about frost though as she stands by the dunes, squinting in the sun. Her mother will be wondering where she is, but she will be unsurprised, asking Elli’s wandering feet to still is as much of a task as trying to keep the world from spinning. Her hooves sink into the sand and she feels the heat grow around them as blue eyes blink against the warmth of the desert. Elli is picturing the paints she would mix together to create this shade. Her breathing is steady, but when she looks out at the horizon she feels it shimmering, she feels the headiness of the heat, and she thinks what colors would this feeling be?
She has seen her mother’s brokenness, of course, but she cannot fathom that she had ever been anyone but who she is now, strong, if not quieter than what she had been, not quite as bright as the afternoon sun, but more the soft glow of her mother in the early mornings. Her mother was steadfast, compassionate, and courageous. But Elli does not know the woman who was so reckless with her heart and her soul. The woman who was much quicker to smile and make friends than she is now.
But Elena still shares stories, of times before, when she didn't have her heart locked down so firmly in her chest,
One of her favorite stories is when her mother and godmother met the man of Frost in a spring meadow. They stared down winter with all the warmth and fire of summer. They were just fillies then, little girls who before this had been admiring flowers (sure one was an orphan and one was unknown to a father.) But there were still childhood pieces tucked inside them (‘for safekeeping,’ she imagines her mother saying, just as she does when she stick flower petals under their pillows for wishes later). And the winds blew in her mother’s godfather and the silver regent who melted the ice with but two singular glances. Maybe her mother was not the hero of the story, but Elli still admires her for it.
What would she do if she ran into winter on a spring day?
She would pull a hood up over her head and brace herself for the blizzard.
She cannot think about frost though as she stands by the dunes, squinting in the sun. Her mother will be wondering where she is, but she will be unsurprised, asking Elli’s wandering feet to still is as much of a task as trying to keep the world from spinning. Her hooves sink into the sand and she feels the heat grow around them as blue eyes blink against the warmth of the desert. Elli is picturing the paints she would mix together to create this shade. Her breathing is steady, but when she looks out at the horizon she feels it shimmering, she feels the headiness of the heat, and she thinks what colors would this feeling be?
