Funny how time slips away. How it ebbs in a variety of currents. Too quickly, too soon – not fast enough.
If only, and I wish – to savor moments here and there, and to forgo its pain. No one possessed the amount of perceptive sight to realize what would be lost, or how we should have buried our memories.
So they dance and call out to us. In dreams, reminders and thoughts that come with the fall and rise of the wind.
The world has largely fallen behind the young woman’s work. Perhaps she became recluse, nearly aloof – finding passion in the small details of cloth and dye. The pay was meager, consuming several factors that influenced production. She had made just enough to get by that winter, and that summer, and before she could lift her head high to acknowledge the sun – fall came creeping in.
It was with some hesitation though, as a realization gripped Noëlle.That her legs had grown somewhat longer, and her child-like roundness had faded for something sharper. Something crafted beyond the form of gangly limbs, and wide eyes. A form she found difficult to recognize. Graceful was far from the creature staring back at her, more like disheveled and disorganized.
Before thoughts of reservations dared to stop her, Noëlle packed up what little she could for the journey set in her mind’s eye. A journey she’d been planning for some time already. Surely, the roads leading to Delumine would prove more favorable in the fall than winter. She had wasted too much time already. If there was anything worth leaving for, it was for the information and perfection of her craft.
Accounts of an ancient library nestled in Delumine’s forests pressed Noëlle northwards. An air of excitement treaded alongside her pace, for the allure of things soon to be discovered and unearthed. Suppose the act of travelling proved reminisce of the past – and at the root of her journey, she craved for something familiar to fill all the wrongs of her body. Her womanhood that she felt were not entirely her own to keep; that were more likely the features of a stolen alibi, a woman from another world with a broken horn.
Days had passed, as she made her way into the Viride Forest. Hair less matted – collected in braids of various thickness, and a pair of eyes that felt slightly more sure of itself than before. A small satchel accompanied her, a necklace – buried behind a scarf hugging her shoulders – pressed against her breast. The air was cool, shifting the foliage into a familiar cadence of waving limbs and copper leaves. It soothed her for a reason she didn’t care reasoning about – making ground on soft footfalls, and a keen awareness of the maze surrounding her.
Then there were feathers, shifting with that air and resembling the sky. Hidden ever so carefully behind the thicket, illuminated by hues of dawn. Before Noëlle could utter a single word the mare takes note of her presence. Wild doe-eyes filled with the heat of the sun make contact with her gaze. Noëlle slows her approach, breath even as she comes to a complete stop. Leaving ample room between them. The mare appears startled at the very least, no need to press further into that bubble.
“Hello there. I didn’t mean to startle you.” She bobs her head down slightly, shifting her eyes to the ground for a moment. Finding that, to some degree – the growth of her horns has produced the undesirable effect of looking very large and pointy. “I couldn’t help but notice your wings. They’re very lovely miss – I mean…” She looks up with an embarrassed half smile, the tail behind her waves lazily above the ground.
“I haven’t come across anyone for quite sometime now. I was hopeful that you were friend rather than foe.”
She quietly took in the air with a deep breath. Encouraged by the birdsong, and the tendrils of light escaping the canopy.
Noëlle
