Posted on January 10, 2022 at 11:38:24 AM by Nzingha
hapo ambao asaa  She’d thought that she would need to search for the darkness. She should’ve known that it would find her first. A screaming cry followed the skull-masked mare into the jungle— a call of (vengeance and fury personified by storm) such chilling savagery that it sent shivers racing up her spine. Matching her strides to the thrumming beat of her heart, Nzingha ran faster still. In her fear, she forgot that she had meant to be found. That her intent was to (stand against this darkness) face what came for her in the same way that she’d once faced death. But this shadow that chased her, she sensed, would not be satisfied with the end of one life. Whatever purpose it intended for her was (not de end, but de beginning) something far less merciful, and the shaman— her hooves skimming over the jungle’s soft damp soil— could no longer find the courage in herself to embrace it. Leaping over the thin silver ribbon of a stream, she veered abruptly north, towards the Shore and the Ridge. Towards the safety and comfort of the familiar. And collided— her shoulder against his chest, her teeth snapping together with an audible click— with the unyielding wall of the stallion’s body. Nzingha was left dazed; breathless, her chest hitching as she struggled to fill the vacuous hole their impact had left in her chest. Seconds stretched into an eternity while she fought, panic rising within her like a relentless tide. Then, with a whooping gasp, the Marwari sucked in a mouthful of the warm, wet air, and the veil of darkness was lifted from her eyes. Thoughts circling wildly (howling, screaming), she glimpsed the deep brown of earth and the pale ivory of sand. The curled snarl of dark lips and the feral hunger of darker eyes. Jerking back a single step, the inky woman bared her teeth instinctively, her curved ears flattening against the damp arch of her neck. But she didn’t run; she couldn’t run. Like a bird locked in the eyes of a snake , Nzingha was helpless; held captive by her fear. Courage. She needed to find courage. “K-kufa ni yet-yetu sab-b-bili,” the black mare breathed, the syllables rising into a fervent prayer and then falling to a whisper. “h-hapo ambao as-asaa.” Dying is our path; there are none who can escape it. Even darkness such as that which stood before her was doomed to fade. And it was fading. In the silver that peppered his muzzle and the subtle looseness of his flesh, the shaman sensed that the desperate edge to this creature’s ferocity. The end of his life was nearing, and if she could only… if she could claim even a small piece of his elan, that might be enough to seal his fate. But there was a cost for everything, and for this— (it be growing and spreading) —for this, Nzingha would need to give of herself. The steady rhythm of her heartbeat stuttered, and the spirit-speaker stepped forward again. This close, she could smell the sweetish stink that clung to the silver bay’s coat; the scent of darkness and death. But she skimmed her lips along the curve of his neck regardless, holding her breath and closing her eyes. Surrendering every one of her senses— sight and sound and taste and touch and smell— with a desperation born of need. Not for him ( though her body would have them both believe otherwise) but to escape him. To escape— for this brief instant— the grim purpose that she would serve. Because to conquer the darkness— to conquer it, Nzingha would first need to let it conquer her. NzinghA mare . ten . black sabino overo . marwari . 16.0hh  |
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