are the dead really silent?
Patiently I wait for the blind filly to touch and explore, careful to stand relaxed so she would not feel tension in the lines her nose trailed over my body. Each had their own way of experiencing the world and taking in the senses. Even one who could not see could experience the world in all of its wonder. Possibly experience a beauty that those with vision could miss. The energy that could come from me, or from the other filly, could easily shatter that ease. There was no need to stew in tension, it blocked one from seeing and feeling what was around them. It would have given Maziel a clouded reading of who I am, of what I am, and what I bring to the world.
We travel the trails, each in step with another. Picking and choosing our paths, with a speed slightly quicker than a walk. The pressure of adventure prodding me, at least, forward. I could feel the smile lighting my face when Maziel made the choice of the shore. It was not often I visited the banks of the island, to feel the waves crash against my hooves. My mother and I dwelled more in the mountains and forests of Tinuvel, where we were hidden and the shadows were plenty. Out on the open there was much more to see, much more to feel. Much more to see you. Flicking my tail I chose winding trails that would take us through different terrains before leading us to the rocky beach.
I turn my head slightly to hear Mariael, a little unsure of how to answer her question. The border we most often kept to was that of the Inlet, yes. More often than not we kept the dots of the herd within our sights, but rarely did we step forward to be with the others. For fleeting moments the stallion of the Inlet would step by, but drawing only so near as to allow mother the choice to close the distance or remain apart. Usually we stayed, or left completely. I did know the stallion was my father, but I did not know my father. My eyes close briefly as we step, trying to find the right description for where I was from, one that could be understood. “The Inlet runs through my veins, yes. But I am from Tinuvel itself.” I glance back at them, shifting my attention curiously to them. “Have you two been to the Inlet? There are many there.” Other colts, colts who linger in the herd and have their place. Others who know where they walk on the world, seemingly sure of their steps and their place. They seem unphased by the shifting of the winds or the calls of the wilds, the silent cries that otherwise fill the air.
gypsy vanner mutt; XY; perlino tobiano; newborn; 15’3hh wfg; pagan x peyton |