Post by rebel! on Aug 19, 2008 12:27:03 GMT -5
What goes around, goes around, goes around, comes all the way back around
Cold.
Hard.
Painful.
Empty.
Quite descriptive words. Especially for what Faetharn's life feels like to her now. But why?
Get the full story.
Snow on the ground. Snow all around. A flurry of the flakes. The ground is invisible beneath the white. The air is thick with it. "A blizzard is what it is called," Mutters a voice in her ear.
Faetharn looks up trustingly into the dark chocolatey brown eyes of her friend. He smiles down at her.
The pain overwhelms her. She collapses onto the ground, writhing about in the mud in agony. Flashbacks like this were the bane of her existence, yet she had to remember...she couldn't let it fade away...she had to remember who she was.
"Shatur? Where did momma and papa go?" Asks the little dun filly, staring up at her friend. Shatur was an older stallion. About five...he lost track of the years. He was like a father to Faetharn. Like the one she had never known. "Well Faetharn," He sighs and stares down at her, smiling slightly, "Your father went out on a journey. He left you with your mother. A few days after he left, your mother went out after him. She missed him so terribly. She left you in my care, instructing me to teach you the way she would have, in case she didn't come back," He sighs again, then smiles wryly, "You see, this journey was dangerous. And long. Neither of them were sure they would come back. After a month or so, I set out looking for them. A week into my search I found their bodies. Mauled by a bear," He grimaces as the memory physically pains him
She swallows, trying to hold back the tidal wave of torture that threatens to over come her. Why was she doing this? IT would be so much easier to let the time erode the memories away until they were just a blurry mess. And then she could be like other horses. It was tempting but she couldn't do it. She had committed herself to cementing these times into her mind. Hopefully some day she could look back on all the pain and not full it with such intensity.
Best to crush that hope quickly.
Her eyes glaze over as she dives deeper into her past times, immersing herself into the memories like they were still happening.
"Why?!" She screeches, disbelief and shock coloring her tone, betrayal and broken trust written all her her face. Shatur smiles sadly. "You would never have understood if I told you outright. I had to wait," She stares at him, her pain obvious "I still don't get it! Why Shatur? I trusted you! How could you do this to me?" A glint enters his eyes and his voice hardens a little bit. "Your parents were fools, who didn't deserve to taint perfectly good air that could go to someone else who deserved it." Faetharn stares at him, her whole dun pelt shivering. She shakes her head, muttering to herself, subconsciously registering that he could still hear her. "I can't believe it. This has to be some nightmare. You did not kill my parents. Worse, you did not kill my mother when she was defenseless, trying to protect me, rather than herself." SHe had just heard the horrifying truth. The appalling truth. Shatur had killed her parents. He had killed her mother in cold-blood.
A cry of pain escapes her maw. She screams at herself and tries to trap her voice in her mouth, tries to hold back the building shrieks. She tosses over the ground. The picture of agony: Faetharn remembering.
Her eyes glaze over once again as she lets the wildfire of emotion consume her.
White hot anger surges through her, accompanied by a pulse of adrenaline that makes her muscles tingle and flex. She feels so strong...so powerful...so much more powerful than she had ever been. Fury still races through her, laced with fevered energy. But now another emotion rockets through her, making the others look like play things. Hate. They say its a strong word. And yet they throw love around like its nothing. Well. Faetharn was feeling d**n strong right now. She smiled an evil smile. Shatur's expression turns fearful. "Now, now," He says, backing away slowly. The three year old filly mirrors his every step, watching him with hateful, livid eyes. Without warning she strikes, fast as a flash of lightning, a cobra, a sound wave. Her back legs take her weight as she rears high in the air, her forelegs lashing out in all directions. One hoof catches Shatur in the throat. He falls to the ground choking. Faetharn stands over him watching with cold glittering eyes as he dies slowly at her feet.
This memory was not so painful. A wave of numbness washes through her. She welcomes it, after the intense pain anything is welcome. But she isn't done yet. No, there is more yet. Of course there is.
Again. Disbelieving, she stares down at the dead stallion at her feet. Sickened by what she sees she turns and gallops away. Usually she relishes the feel of the stretch and pull of her muscles, the shifting of her tendons. Not today. She feels nothing. Nothing but horror at what she has done. She is no better than Shatur. Of course she isn't. Miles away, hours later, she closes her eyes, doing a recap. When she reaches the killing of Shatur she lowers her head to the ground and feels the useless heaving of her stomach. She feels as thought she wants to retch. But of course she can't. Horses have a one track system. Instead she gets to dry heave. Joy.
NOTE- Alright, this is mostly flashbacks of her history. After I get a bit of feedback on whether this is worth continuing I'll write a story about her. Right now she's a three year old warmblooded dun filly.
Cold.
Hard.
Painful.
Empty.
Quite descriptive words. Especially for what Faetharn's life feels like to her now. But why?
Get the full story.
Snow on the ground. Snow all around. A flurry of the flakes. The ground is invisible beneath the white. The air is thick with it. "A blizzard is what it is called," Mutters a voice in her ear.
Faetharn looks up trustingly into the dark chocolatey brown eyes of her friend. He smiles down at her.
The pain overwhelms her. She collapses onto the ground, writhing about in the mud in agony. Flashbacks like this were the bane of her existence, yet she had to remember...she couldn't let it fade away...she had to remember who she was.
"Shatur? Where did momma and papa go?" Asks the little dun filly, staring up at her friend. Shatur was an older stallion. About five...he lost track of the years. He was like a father to Faetharn. Like the one she had never known. "Well Faetharn," He sighs and stares down at her, smiling slightly, "Your father went out on a journey. He left you with your mother. A few days after he left, your mother went out after him. She missed him so terribly. She left you in my care, instructing me to teach you the way she would have, in case she didn't come back," He sighs again, then smiles wryly, "You see, this journey was dangerous. And long. Neither of them were sure they would come back. After a month or so, I set out looking for them. A week into my search I found their bodies. Mauled by a bear," He grimaces as the memory physically pains him
She swallows, trying to hold back the tidal wave of torture that threatens to over come her. Why was she doing this? IT would be so much easier to let the time erode the memories away until they were just a blurry mess. And then she could be like other horses. It was tempting but she couldn't do it. She had committed herself to cementing these times into her mind. Hopefully some day she could look back on all the pain and not full it with such intensity.
Best to crush that hope quickly.
Her eyes glaze over as she dives deeper into her past times, immersing herself into the memories like they were still happening.
"Why?!" She screeches, disbelief and shock coloring her tone, betrayal and broken trust written all her her face. Shatur smiles sadly. "You would never have understood if I told you outright. I had to wait," She stares at him, her pain obvious "I still don't get it! Why Shatur? I trusted you! How could you do this to me?" A glint enters his eyes and his voice hardens a little bit. "Your parents were fools, who didn't deserve to taint perfectly good air that could go to someone else who deserved it." Faetharn stares at him, her whole dun pelt shivering. She shakes her head, muttering to herself, subconsciously registering that he could still hear her. "I can't believe it. This has to be some nightmare. You did not kill my parents. Worse, you did not kill my mother when she was defenseless, trying to protect me, rather than herself." SHe had just heard the horrifying truth. The appalling truth. Shatur had killed her parents. He had killed her mother in cold-blood.
A cry of pain escapes her maw. She screams at herself and tries to trap her voice in her mouth, tries to hold back the building shrieks. She tosses over the ground. The picture of agony: Faetharn remembering.
Her eyes glaze over once again as she lets the wildfire of emotion consume her.
White hot anger surges through her, accompanied by a pulse of adrenaline that makes her muscles tingle and flex. She feels so strong...so powerful...so much more powerful than she had ever been. Fury still races through her, laced with fevered energy. But now another emotion rockets through her, making the others look like play things. Hate. They say its a strong word. And yet they throw love around like its nothing. Well. Faetharn was feeling d**n strong right now. She smiled an evil smile. Shatur's expression turns fearful. "Now, now," He says, backing away slowly. The three year old filly mirrors his every step, watching him with hateful, livid eyes. Without warning she strikes, fast as a flash of lightning, a cobra, a sound wave. Her back legs take her weight as she rears high in the air, her forelegs lashing out in all directions. One hoof catches Shatur in the throat. He falls to the ground choking. Faetharn stands over him watching with cold glittering eyes as he dies slowly at her feet.
This memory was not so painful. A wave of numbness washes through her. She welcomes it, after the intense pain anything is welcome. But she isn't done yet. No, there is more yet. Of course there is.
Again. Disbelieving, she stares down at the dead stallion at her feet. Sickened by what she sees she turns and gallops away. Usually she relishes the feel of the stretch and pull of her muscles, the shifting of her tendons. Not today. She feels nothing. Nothing but horror at what she has done. She is no better than Shatur. Of course she isn't. Miles away, hours later, she closes her eyes, doing a recap. When she reaches the killing of Shatur she lowers her head to the ground and feels the useless heaving of her stomach. She feels as thought she wants to retch. But of course she can't. Horses have a one track system. Instead she gets to dry heave. Joy.
NOTE- Alright, this is mostly flashbacks of her history. After I get a bit of feedback on whether this is worth continuing I'll write a story about her. Right now she's a three year old warmblooded dun filly.
