The Plains
Major battles may often take place in this land.
sweet sensations IP: 77.98.211.44 Posted on May 5, 2011 at 13:09:09 by FLINTFOOT

Lost, somewhere between the Gates’ and the Meadow, eclipsed by the memories of a distant past and the ghosts of friends now cast away into the abyss, the mother had heard of her daughters plight. Flintfoot could scarcely describe how it felt, the knowledge that her baby was to enter into mortal peril. Just as any parent would, she longed to swap places, to spare her child the pain and crippling inflictions she could gain from this experience. If the contract had not been magical and binding, she would have done so too.
The small mare gingerly stood upon the top of the hill. Her legs shook, she struggled to stand, the bones no longer supporting her weight. The absent expressed that had fixated her life recently had faded, replaced by an aghast horror. Fear, remorse, that feeling as if you’ve been punched in the stomach and want to throw up – they all plagued her. She craned her head, twisting and turning, swaying on the spot to try and catch a glimpse of the daughter she had not seen in over a year. Moisture gathered in the corner of her eyes, holding her hostage to her emotions. It felt wrong being here to watch her child get beaten up: and they had the nerve to call it entertainment.
Suddenly Flinty saw her; Pevensie, her beautiful buttery-silver pelt stood out amongst the regular bays and greys. Seeing her child stood there, so tall and elegant, no longer the tiny filly that used to burry into her mothers side when a stranger would walk by. A gurgled laugh escaped her, drowned beneath the roars of the large crowd. She wished Degradation were here to see it.
“Nekana, give her your skill… Rocketdog, keep her fighting… Tree, watch over her,” she prayed below her breath, casting a forlorn plea towards the heavens above then returning – heart in mouth – to witness the plight of her youngest daughter.
| F L I N T F O O T
image by Adam Foster at flickr.com |
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