Secure in the heart of her land, El Aran had felt only the faintest protests from the earth while another island across the sea had collapsed in on itself. If she had witnessed Cimarron’s devouring by the sea, perhaps she would have interpreted it as a sign from the Gods, but she had not, and her dreams had not been portentous of late.
Her dreams had been of war and searing heat, of the bruising blow of a blunt, cracked hoof colliding with her shoulder or hip while teeth tore at the fragile skin of her nose and the tender points of her ears, of wailing foals and whispered treachery under the fickle glow of the silver moon. There was no war on the Islands, and nothing suggested war would fall on the Islands. El Aran acknowledged her dreams as nightmares and ignored them during the day. She feared them only at night.
Midmorning found her rolling in the pool, cleaning the night’s sweat from her coat and washing some of the sand off of her dull black body. Already the sun shone hot. It would not take long for the moisture to evaporate back into the atmosphere and leave her dry and dark as before. For now, El Aran came to rest on her belly in the shallows and dragged her muzzle across the surface of the water. She watched the ripples expand and collide with her body before they disappeared and wondered where her son had gone.
Aşk's eighth eye
♥ Uforia
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