Common

’Get out there and make your mark. Do something Raksha. Do something!’ Like the song of a mockingbird the words play over and over again in her mind. Grant it, the little bird no doubtedly had a sweeter voice than Nyimara did, but still they hurt and hurt her deeply. Raksha always knew that mother expected great things from her. She was, after all, the eldest daughter and Nyimara was quick to remind her over and over again of how much Sigurdr had accomplished in his short years. How much their father had accomplished. Though his name still burned like poison to her ears, Raksha’s attentive gaze never missed the flinch of skin or the flash of pain in Nyimara’s eyes whenever she mentioned father’s name. Regardless of how she tried to hide it, whatever it was that had really happened to splinter the family, Raksha knew that Nyimara hurt. However her hurt did not sway her barbed tongue or the cold indifference in her eyes.

So with her mother’s voice at her back, Raksha set out for the main island in hopes of at least silencing that nagging voice. Though she still had not become a fan of swimming through the warm salt waters, the trip to the main island seemed shortened somewhat and as she dragged herself from the surf, the crimson woman felt almost recharged, as though the waters had revitalized her. The sun beat down upon the beach, but not with the same intensity that it did in Salem. Where once she may have immediately sought shelter among the trees shadows, now Raksha spends a few moments with her hooves buried deep in the hot sands, catching her breath. It does not take long. Red ears fall backwards in relaxation as Raksha takes her time now, in no real hurry to return to the Hills and face her mother’s wrath, for surely that was what her failure would receive; likewise she had no real direction in mind aside for wandering and for once she contintented herself at a languid pace. Thoughts travel far from her in a myriad of directions as twisted and twinning as branches of the flowering ironwood trees that dotted the desert landscape. She thought of her father, Bjorn. Thought of the intimate moments that she had been allowed to share with him those few days in the meadow and the weeks that he resided in the Arch. Silver blue eyes cloud with the sadness that drew at her each time she thought of the smokey stallion. Bjorn had taken Sigurdr with him. Taken Skogsra too. He had taken them to whatever distant land it was that kept calling to him when his strength began to wane. His escape from the madness that slowly was beginning to eat away her mother’s mind.

There was a small voice in her mind, a timid whisper that begged to know why. Why had he taken her siblings but let her? Why had he run from mother instead of facing the creature that she was becoming like the proud strong warrior she had always known him to be. Why did he run from her? Was she not good enough? Did he see the weakness inside her? It was the voice that begged her to give into that dark desire of hate. She wanted to be jealous of her siblings, wanted to be jealous of the freedom to go and come as they pleased and venture into distant lands and see sights far beyond the borders of the islands. She wants to scream their name. Scream Bjorn’s name and spit a fury of curses beneath her breath at their shared blood. And yet those memories return. The happy moments when she was still small, moments when father cuddled her close during those long stormy summer nights or Sigurdr romped over the snow covered hills of the Inlet with her in tag. In those moments she can feel the warmth of their skin and the comforting familiarity of their scent enveloping her in a blanket of protection and shielding her from that darkness. Family. That is all she had left. Bjorn may be gone. Sigurdr and Skogsra too, but she had Warduna and Nycol. She had Nyimara too as twisted and conniving as her mother was. Family.

Lost deep in her own thoughts and without even looking to see what direction her feet had taken her, Raksha all but bumped her head against the unfamiliar stallion’s rump. ”Oofff!” she grunted, reeling back a few steps and giving her proud head a good shake, stuffing the memories that were best left lost in the past away. Small ears perk amid the tangle of chocolate colored mane as silver blue eyes peer startled and concerned at the stranger. ”I am so so so sorry. It was my fault. I… I should have been paying attention…” she continues, her voice trailing now as she tilts her muzzle towards him, cocking her head to search for any wounds or signs that her clumsiness might have offended him. ”Are you… are you alright?” she asks, her timid voice lilted with the hint of curiosity that new strangers usually brought.

He looked disheveled, and more lost than she herself felt. Compassion fills her silver blue eyes as she stares at him for a moment, memorizing the muscular curve of his hip beneath the lanky dried hairs of his gold and white frame. Mud and sand caked the hairs along his legs and hip making him look even more unkempt than first appearance. Small ears tilt backwards as she takes a single step forward, eyes rising to meet his. ”Is there something I can do?” She may not be able to help her own muddle of confused thoughts, but perhaps maybe she could help this stranger somehow.