And flowers in her hair IP: 22.214.171.124 Posted on July 28, 2011 at 04:41:12 PM by P A K V O R A
Pakvora had been filled with joy when she realised she had indeed succeeded in her task, however, as the mists cleared for the next task her hearts twisted. There stood her mother, well a magical figure of her mother. She was smaller than Pakvora, black and white with bright blue eyes that could pierce right through you.
Though Pakvora knew deep down that this was not her mother, tears began to leak from her eyes, dribbling down her cheeks. She had abandoned her, left her to her merciless father and she neither knew whether she was alive or dead. Her mother whinnied quietly at her. Pakvora had to turn away from her magical puppet mother for a moment.
She had to clear her mind, to remember why she left her old land, her family. Here she had found another mare the equal or better of her mother; Aelina. It was Aelina who had nurtured her through those uncertain first months, who brought her back to the Falls.
Ahh, the Falls! Pakvora subconsciously smiled as she imagined the thrumming of the falls beneath her feet, how it vibrated through her whole body, a steady rhythm to her heartbeat. It was not something she could imagine abandoning, leaving, betraying. Had she not already done all the damage she could do to her Mother? The mother who had not protected her against her tyrannical father, who had left her to fend for herself.
A slow anger spread through her arteries, a stinging warmth reaching all her muscles Ė she turned back to look at her Mother. Maybe her biological mother, but not her true one; she had not protected her, nurtured her, she was only a figurehead. But she was hollow, she was a plaster cast of the real thing.
Pakvora begins to run at her immobile mother, or the magical impression of her. The illusion continued to whinny plaintively, but she ignored it, gaining speed down the grass straight. There was a satisfying impact as each of her sturdy hooves pounded the ground, driving her compact body on faster and faster. Finally, her eyes half closed against the stinging wind, she judges it the right moment to attack.
She leans back on her haunches, sliding for several feet towards her still immobile mother. As she slides closer, and closer she canít help but cry out,
Iím sorry Mother, but I must do this! With that she slides into her motherís shoulder like a heavy battering ram Ė the impact ricocheting through Pakvoraís own shoulder. With uncharacteristic aggression she bares her teeth and with her short bullish neck, she grasps her yielding Motherís jugular. However, the uncannily solid illusion begins to fight back. Her mother rears up, pounding at Pakvoraís belly with powerful punches. Pakvora soon careers off to a safer distance, turning to see her mother following, the benign expression on her face at odds with the damage which she can and will do. Pakvora, though not a fighter, knows she can beat her mother. She stands stock still as her mother gains speed, pounding towards her as she had done only a few moments before. Pakvora lowers herself, bracing for what will come. At almost the last moment, she swings herself, so only her haunches are in her motherís line. She hears the illusion putting the brakes on, the grass beneath sliding hooves ripping up and leaving trails of mud. But it is too late, with a grimace of some regret, Pakvora, with an eye locked on her Motherís form, aims a double barrelled kick with terrible accuracy at her motherís coarse head.
There is a sickening crunch as hoof meets bone, as hoof meets skull. There is a thud as the heavily built mare falls to the floor. Pakvora dare not turn to see what she has done, but tears once again spill from her orbs. However, there is some inner confidence flowering, as she begins to believe in her own strength Ė physical and emotional.