sabrina,
Some of the cacti were in bloom, their beautiful pink flowers a sharp contrast to the dry, dusty green of the succulent. At their core they transitioned flawlessly to a pale yellow, sharp-edged and only slightly wilting. They filled the air with a cloying sweetness. A tarantula hawk, with its jet-black thorax and stained-glass wings, crawled from the depths of one, shook itself, and lifted, buzzing heavily, into the hot air. A tumbleweed tittered past. An elephant shrew poked its head out of a sagebrush, peeked around, then dashed to a cluster of red rocks, where it disappeared amongst the crevasses.
Sabrina realized she was more keyed-in than normal, from the magic buzzing in her veins. It gave her sort of… super-vision was a bad way to describe it, but Delph often had. It made her jumpy, more responsive to visual cues, and she noticed more, noticed even the slightest movements. The shadow of a vulture circling far overhead, the shifting of the sand as something burrowed into the depths out of the heat; the yipping of a distant coyote set her skin to jumping.
She faced Sloane down and watched the mare blink. Then she heard her the most stupid-ass kindergarten thing she’d ever heard in her life.
Sabrina screwed up her face in the picture of underwhelmed disbelief. Part of her had longed for a good verbal spat, she realized, so the very blase response coming from Sloane left her feeling incredibly disappointed. “What are you, a yearling?” she half-snorted, half laughed, having to feel some sort of emotion at the pitiful attempt at an insult. “My baby sister had better comebacks than that when she was a wet newborn.”
Honestly, of all the things Sabrina had to feel insecure about, her appearance was not one of them. She didn’t have insecurities, not anymore. After going through what she did-- losing the love of her life, having her entire existence uprooted and torn to pieces like a tilled field, burnt and salted so nothing more could grow, petty things like looks no longer mattered. Why would being called cow-like make her any more hurt than watching the muscles in Puck’s back flex, post-mortem, as she sawed the wings from his dissolving corpse?
“I expected so much more from you,” Sabrina said, mocking, her voice taking on an angry-but-not-disappointed tone, “and, honestly, more fool me for thinking you knew anything about anything at all.” She’d never really figured Sloan knew anything at all, but the mouthy bitch had been her first lead in months. Teska’s letters were becoming more and more pressuring, a heavier weight sitting atop her shoulders.
She scuffed at the dirt with a hoof as the magic buzz began to die down; the clenching nausea in her gut began to fade.
“Keep walking, ugly,” she called; then, under her breath: “Probably dumb enough to die out here.”
Sabrina realized she was more keyed-in than normal, from the magic buzzing in her veins. It gave her sort of… super-vision was a bad way to describe it, but Delph often had. It made her jumpy, more responsive to visual cues, and she noticed more, noticed even the slightest movements. The shadow of a vulture circling far overhead, the shifting of the sand as something burrowed into the depths out of the heat; the yipping of a distant coyote set her skin to jumping.
She faced Sloane down and watched the mare blink. Then she heard her the most stupid-ass kindergarten thing she’d ever heard in her life.
Sabrina screwed up her face in the picture of underwhelmed disbelief. Part of her had longed for a good verbal spat, she realized, so the very blase response coming from Sloane left her feeling incredibly disappointed. “What are you, a yearling?” she half-snorted, half laughed, having to feel some sort of emotion at the pitiful attempt at an insult. “My baby sister had better comebacks than that when she was a wet newborn.”
Honestly, of all the things Sabrina had to feel insecure about, her appearance was not one of them. She didn’t have insecurities, not anymore. After going through what she did-- losing the love of her life, having her entire existence uprooted and torn to pieces like a tilled field, burnt and salted so nothing more could grow, petty things like looks no longer mattered. Why would being called cow-like make her any more hurt than watching the muscles in Puck’s back flex, post-mortem, as she sawed the wings from his dissolving corpse?
“I expected so much more from you,” Sabrina said, mocking, her voice taking on an angry-but-not-disappointed tone, “and, honestly, more fool me for thinking you knew anything about anything at all.” She’d never really figured Sloan knew anything at all, but the mouthy bitch had been her first lead in months. Teska’s letters were becoming more and more pressuring, a heavier weight sitting atop her shoulders.
She scuffed at the dirt with a hoof as the magic buzz began to die down; the clenching nausea in her gut began to fade.
“Keep walking, ugly,” she called; then, under her breath: “Probably dumb enough to die out here.”
@Sloane | "Speech." |
