giselle.

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The fall leaves were soft underneath her hooves as Giselle crossed the unfamiliar terrain. The mare’s silver ears orchestrated with the echoes of distant whispers, and the songbirds had just started the melodies of the morning. Most of the birds were clever and had migrated south for the winter that was quickly coming, if that was viable for her, she would have learned a lesson or two from them. It had been so dark throughout the night, the moon had been a sliver in the sky and while she convinced herself she could not be fearful of the unknown, Giselle still wasn’t confident of her strength in this new dangerous place. It felt natural to have the instinctual feeling that the unknown was a threat; her instinct after all, helped her survive. Ever since Giselle had been separated from her mother, she traveled around, never staying in one place too long, not wanting to become tied down. The memories of her childhood were clouded; she had pieced images of what it had been. Giselle knew her father was a spitting image of her before he had crumbled away, her mother had left the place she was born shortly after her birth because of the disappearance of her father. Giselle’s mother wanted the best for her child even though she had grown bitter as she had become older – she had never missed out on teaching Giselle ways to survive this world.

Inside she may not be certain, but the grulla mare exerted a strength inside of her that suggested a confident strut through the meadow. Honestly going out through the open field wasn’t her first choice, though there was no other way around that she could find and she was becoming famished from her travels. This place was not ideal for her to stay very long, she just had a feeling. Giselle’s choice was to pick up the pace, allowing her asphalt hooves to shift her into motion, steadily advancing at a trot. With the increase in effort, her breath hastened and glimpses of the cold morning could be seen on her foggy exhales. Her overo pattern was splotched with dried mud, mostly underneath her belly and coating her legs. Giselle wasn’t certain which direction or place she was headed, all she knew is that it felt… right in a twisted way. The mare’s movement would attract attention, she knew this as her left ear flattened against her slate head and her neck rounded down as she pushed on – hoping that if the stars were in her favor that no one would notice her.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, streaks of orange and pink shadowed the horizon illuminating a landmark in the distance – oddly comforting and familiar. There had been other large rock mountains on her journey here, so why did this one remind her of something? The large rocky outcrops of the ridge shadowed over the dying grass and smells of other horses drifted on the wind. Without question she spotted a shift in movement near the shadow of the mountain and her ears turned forward, a mirage perhaps? Curious she ventured nearer, wanting answers to where she had wound up, wanting to know what this place was.

Deciding it was in her best interest to stop and inquire as to where she was, the silver mare made her way over to the base of the peak. Her arctic blue eyes shot upwards, travelling along the curves of stone, fixated with interest at the inanimate substance.

Did other horses call this cliff a home? Not that Giselle had an end game, honestly she had no idea where she was headed and always conveniently ended up in new places – always traveling, always wanting to learn more, to be more. This was a place Giselle believed that she had never set eyes upon before and to her that made it fascinating. She wasn’t sure if anyone would be living around here, nor did she care all that much if there was, perhaps they could answer her questions. A few small loose stones tumbled off the cliff face, creating a clattering sound as they made contact with walls of the mountain all the way down. Giselle found refuge in the shade that the stones offered for the time being, allowing rest to come greet her as she shifted her weight to one of her haunches, letting her hoof prop up.

Alas, Giselle had managed to find the place she had been born – and the silver mare had no idea.
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mare | 6 | mustang cross | silver grulla overo | 15.1 | hallucinogenic x ardea | moka
image credited to: squidlarkin @ deviantart