send a message to the unborn child
keep your eyes open for a while
in a box high up on the shelf, left for you, no one else
there's a piece of a puzzle known as life
wrapped in guilt, sealed up tight
Getting here wasn't easy.
I had stumbled along the worn path, my small hooves coming down onto the hard-packed earth tenderly. The sun was still hours off when I snuck away from the den, and I couldn't tell you exactly why. The earth was dark before me, and every step was painful. My flesh was searing, slower to expand than my growing bones, and my hooves ached. I felt like I was being slowly pulled apart, and it was torture. I walked through my shadowy world, setting my instincts on auto-pilot, not quite sure why I was out in the dead of night. The faeries often tell us stories about notable figures from Beqanna, and they liked discourage night-time adventures with stories about horses like Carnage and even Starlace, who they say is the Queen of the Chamber. It's all hog-wash in my opinion, and it doesn't stop me from getting out.
I have started to think that my lack of fear has something to do with my...life...problem. It was the strange pull of instinct that drew me from the comfort of the den. I had this urge to run out into the night, and I could tell that my body yearned for a good chase, but I didn't want to chance it. During the day, I can see obstacles as shadows that splash across the silverscreen of my vision, but at night I rely much more heavily on my other senses. My sense of smell is really delicate, but it isn't that which brings me to first meal. I could feel it before I could smell it, a fawn somewhere close. My ears picked up on her delicate footsteps, my body buzzing with her presence. I slowly sought the solid support of a tree as I waited in my black world, and I began to wonder if she had seen me. I flicked my ears forward and flared my nostrils. There wasn't a sound, but her scent was still strong - she was still close. I hear her steps pick up again, and before I can register that she's passing in front of me, my body acts. I don't know exactly how it happened, but I brought her to the ground, killed her, and tore into the fresh flesh with a ferocious hunger I'd never felt before.
I think hard about that terrifyingly glorious experience as I cautiously travel into the playground. It's been a few weeks since my birth, and the faeries have been absolutely obnoxious about my growth. Since I can't see, save for the vague shadows when the sun is out, I really harbor no interest in my growth, or anything about my physical appearance for that matter. I could tell from the stinging sensations that there were gashes on my legs from where my skin hadn't stretched fast enough to accommodate my growing bones, but why should I care? If I was generally avoided because of my gruesome wounds, then it was no loss of mine. I stand in the shade of some trees, my world gradually brightening with the rising sun, and I know I look a hot mess with blood splashed across my front and the ugly gashes. I play with the idea of starting back for the Den, but the thought of dealing with the faeries leaves me weary. I lay down in the grass, crossing my forelegs and laying my chin on them, and sigh deeply, and already I can feel my desperate wishes for a sense of normalcy rising...
prison
the sightless revenant
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