other worlds than these

[Antiope]

I

pace along in the same direction that the young boy had run off to, hoping to free myself from the crowd. The further the sun progresses along the sky, the more and more bodies that appear in the meadow, lining rows of shops and crossing back and forth like a swarm. At one time the press of bodies would not have bothered me, would not have made my skin crawl so violently. But they are too close and too many. It is clear that the festival had been the wrong decision for me.

I finally break free from the mass of equines and into a quieter area. I can see the boy racing off, having nearly run into some unsuspecting stranger. No doubt he is off to tell his friends or his family, whoever he may have, about the wonderful treat he had been given. A small smile turns up the corner of my lips unbidden. Children have always provided me with as much joy as they have pain. Seeing one so happy over something so simple warms me.

As each step brings me closer to freedom, they also bring me closer to the man, who I can now hear talking to himself. ”I’d rather be anywhere but here,” he mutters and I cannot help the snort that escapes me. I roll a shoulder beneath the blue scarf tucked around my neck. “You’re not the only one,” I say, almost idly, practically to myself. I have to lift my head to look at him, but there are still wild things in the storm sea of my eyes. His height does not bother me, nor does the armor he wears nor the multi-pointed antlers adorning his head. One could say I am similarly decorated for war, with stripes like a tiger and my own metal adornments.

“We must be the only equines in all of Novus who are not in the mood for a party,” my voice is low, smoky. I raise a brow as I push further away from the bustling behind me. There is nothing I would like more at this very moment but to be very far away from here. I can already imagine the ocean calling to me, the gentle caress of sea spray as it crashes against the cliffs, the air tangling the smell of salt and seaweed into my long hair. “Tell me then, where would you rather be?”

@Vreis speaks

antiope
—
« our souls speak as loud as
the thunder upon our heads »

♢