sometimes quiet is violent
Ink ears slicked back into tangled, braided tresses as I wandered into the city of the court my mother had left me outside of. It had been six months and a few days since I was left in the swirling mist of the swamps, before some unlucky individuals had found me tangled up and giggling in a cluster of thorns, blood oozing down my midnight dyed limbs. Of course, I didn't go with them once we removed my gangly limbs from their grasp. Rather I slunk around the shadows of the swamp until my limbs were no longer gangly, my mane no longer stuck up in a wild mohawk and my tail no longer a brush smacking across my ass. As a yearling there were still obvious signs of the awkwardness of youth, but I was older now, much more of a recluse after my six months of voluntary solitude.
The air glittered with an excitement I didn't understand. Everyone's joy moved across my darkened frame like swamp mud, rolled across my tongue like curdled milk, twisting my stomach as strangers in the street brushed up against my shoulder in their gleeful movements.
Curses slid from my vocal chords as I attempted to move a little quicker through the crowds of celebrators, still very unaware of what the jubilee was for, muttering apologizes to whoever was unlucky enough to be in my way as long limbs struck out carrying me wherever I could possibly get away. Orange, lupine-like eyes settled on the temple that rose before me and a sigh of relief slipped from between crimson stained lips, the metallic taste coating my tongue as I allowed my body to relax ever so slightly now that the end was in sight. I was uneducated in the arts of religion, but even I muttered a prayer of thanks as I moved into the temple.
Away from the crowd.
Inky ears flicked forward and then backward as I walked into the eerily empty temple, orange eyes settling on a beautifully crafted shrine before me and a moment of awe washed through the temple. "Who are you?" I whispered to the shrine as I stopped a few feet away from it's base.
