Post by mckenna on May 26, 2012 23:45:50 GMT -5
McKenna
[/font]"one born from fire"[/center][/color]“I was supposed to protect you.”
She is somewhere near the edge of a dream, she’s certain, because her brother still breathes steadily here. She watches with an extra beat to her heart as his chest rises and falls, like the wing of a great bird. She remembers him so vividly she even remembers how he exhales and inhales, and she feels pathetic for it; even more so when even at a distance she can easily imagine how his own heartbeat sounds, how he smells like the grass he so enjoyed rolling around in like a newborn colt. She remembers all of it as if it stands beside her even now, as if it lives somewhere deep within her spirit instead of sinking into the ground he died on.
“Kearney, can you hear me? Please, I want to tell you that I’m sorry, that I miss you.”
He turns to her, his eyes the same sky-blue they used to be, but without the light, as if clouds are scudding across the sunlight in them. She feels the storm clouds surround her as well and soon the vision of him is gone, as is the reply he attempts to give her before she stirs to the steady thrum of rain stomping and pounding the leaves that currently reside above her head.
McKenna’s not sure when she wakes that this place is any more tangible than her dream, because she’s not perfectly certain how she came to sleep comfortably beneath a willow that appears to be in the middle of nowhere. She feels a temptation to succumb to sleep once more and seek safety in the realm of her dream, but chooses otherwise when she feels her mane frizzing up in the smothering humidity.
“Oh, no,” she mutters miserably as a vein of lightening splits a cloud overhead. “No, no, no. This is not going to be a good day. Not at all.” She is almost glad for the distraction from memories of her brother, but would still rather exist in a nightmare than running through layers and layers of rain.
The young mare sprints from her resting place elsewhere, and as fast as possible. In an unfamiliar land she cannot find a proper direction for shelter, and runs blindly in many different ways until she sees what she believes to be foliage. Beneath some hemlock trees the rain slows to a drizzle, and she heaves a great sigh of relief, though tenses when she realizes she’s more lost here than in an open field.
McKenna halts instantly when she hears a squelch beneath her neat hooves, and stifles a sound of distress when she sees the new state of them: coated entirely in watered-down dirt and filthy puddle splashes. She feels like the mud beneath her is alive, and is trying to swallow her whole once she moves further and it starts to reach her knees. She gets stuck a few times, struggles, and frees herself only to get trapped again a few steps away.
“No, no, no,” she repeats again, but tries to uplift her spirit by thinking of the face her brother would make watching her awful debacle.
She stops again of her own will when she sees a pair of wide eyes, and her own brown ones match the creature’s in shock and size. She wonders if she’s accidentally stepped on the tiny thing when it suddenly starts to materialize from the goop and becomes a much, much bigger thing with fangs and claws and –
“Snapping turtle!” she whinnies in horror as its tail lashes defensively. It’s as if the mare sprouts wings as she leaps over it and further into the maze of a swamp she can’t seem to break out of.
Brother.
“I’m lost, so lost, and what a mess I am.” McKenna looks around but finds nothing but more mire and overcast skies, thick canopies and a hollow, raw sentiment settling in her stomach, heavy and as sickening as the soaked earth. “Help! Somebody please!”
alis grave nil
[/font]"nothing is heavy to those who have wings"[/center][/color]ooc:
Word count: 670.
Notes: Sorry. I'm really rusty, and my allergies are driving me nuts. xD And I hate snapping turtles. I felt I should share that since they've ruined my day more than once.
I also am awful at graphics and html so I'm sorry for the relatively plain posting format...
And the thing at the bottom is a Latin phrase.[/size]
