r e c k i t t
crash through the surface
where they can't hurt us
where they can't hurt us
T
wo very different perspectives are they, though they would not know it inherently, but if our dear Druid could read with her writer’s eyes; things might be different.Each step away from her home, did not bring solace to Reckitt, no, it did not ease her troubles- only added to the depth of her loss. Made more holes to the porous rock that had settled into her stomach, leaching into itself the mass of her guilt, her defeat. How she wished to be rid of this feeling, so misplaced in the happiness she exuded, when was she going to find herself again? The white mare had left many behind, faces, she still saw when she slept, proverbial hands reaching, unable to find purchase against their ghosts. That’s all they were now, weren’t they? Fading spectres, made real only by her memories of them, the fine lines of their faces, the curve of their jaws, all but lost now.
So much to explore, so she sets off on a new adventure, uncertain of what she will find but hopeful- hopeful for once that there will be good to come of this. Slowly each layer was peeling away, but still, it is a lethargic advancement; it will take much time to change the debt of doubt that sticks to her in this form. This mass of a creature, so soft, softer than she has ever been, if one can perceive the severity of that. As a wolf, she had easily submitted but she bore tools that could aide her, if she needed them, the sharp rows of teeth homed within her maw. Canines that could split skin, something she had not done unless she was eating, not once had she struck out against another, tasted their lifesource in a fit of rage. Kitt simply couldn’t, taking the brunt of each blow without seeking vengeance.
This skin was unusual, powerless in her eyes, and even if it was not- she would not allow such brutality to find a home within her. It was not for her, placing her emotions into physical altercation, Kitt would rather talk things out, take a rational approach to anger, mistrust, offense.
It is at the water’s edge she finds herself, staring at her stranger reflection, still trying to accept that she was indeed a horse now, that this could either be her cell or her freedom- the choice was hers wasn’t it? There is a lot to take in, thus her amber eyes wander over the mirror surface, reaching for the reflection of all things around her, reaching for knowledge, acceptance, for anything that may restore her Faith.
A dark figure finds her peripheral, the shape of a looming shadow and she turns with a gasp, her golden eyes staring wide at the approaching equine.
@Belial | "speaks" | notes: 467
