it feels as good a time as any to strike out on her own. she feels little tie to her mother, her sisters, or really to anything. hellebore had always been a strange fixture in her family, without a father, somewhat resented by her sisters (this was largely imagined) and likely the cause of her mothers withering sanity. she didn’t belong. the feeling of estrangement was exacerbated by the differences in her physical appearance. unlike the svelte refinement of her mother and sisters, the small mare was slightly heavier boned and sported a much fuller (nearly bushy) mane and tail. she even occasionally broke into strange rolling gaits, a clue as to her heritage maybe? her mother never did tell her how her existence came into being. hellebore had gathered that the circumstances were unpleasant, just another reason to leave. there was no fuss or fanfare with her departure, perhaps her mother hadn’t even noticed… it wouldn’t have been the first time she had disappeared under the confused mare’s watch…the smoky grullo lets the stirring saltwater around her distract her from the resentment she felt building. what point was there in harboring such a feeling? better to just leave it all behind. there are still many patches of snow resting on the ground, stubbornly resisting the warmth of the sun and the softening ground. she is attracted to the clean white and so, after shaking the remaining drops of saltwater from her hide, she strikes out at a jaunty trot toward the nearest patch. she pays little heed to her surroundings, having not much a care in the world except to follow her whims, and lashes out at the crisp white layer with a dark feathered hoof, her lips pulling to a smile when she sends the crusted snow flying. it is childish entertainment, she knows, but there is something about disturbing such a perfect thing that brings her a little joy. |