Kishar watched them come to life. There was nothing more than she wanted than to watch this place be the same one it had been when she’d grown up.
That was the thing. Kishar hadn’t really watched this place all that much as a child. The place that was in her mind… that wasn’t what it had been. It was as if she’d fallen asleep one day under a grand tree in this place and woken up on the mainland. It had faded in and out, it had wavered and changed. This place, in front of her right now, had wavered and changed. It was enough to twist the mare’s mind and try to find it a new direction. This place was a strange new direction, and the mare didn’t want to know what was going on, didn’t want to see what would happen next.
Kishar was getting better at fighting the future. The mare wouldn’t let herself fall down the slippery slope into faded nothingness her father had. He had stood above all the rest in this place, and now… now what was he? The creature that cloaked herself within the night where she stood, dark eyes sharp on whatever she could find to focus on. It was strange, the way the light danced upon the trees and the swamp itself. There was nothing to reflect the white light. There was nothing to catch it that wasn’t the eyes of another living thing.
There’s a young man that makes his way through the darkness. The creature can make out the lines of his body, the silhouette of a creature spun of light and gold. He’s still wet behind the ears and she knows. She knows that he has to have been born here… who else would be here this early? Who else would be here this late? This is a woman that knows the mark of a Lagoon child when she sees one. It’s the same damn reason she doesn’t quiver as she stands amongst the swamp trees.
The colt speaks, and Kishar has her turn to listen. Both ears pitch forward, one slowly swivels back. She’s listening, neutral, and not sure how to feel as of quite yet. ”The shadows? They are alive.” The mare reaches down, scratching at a bit of mud as it dries on her foreleg. It’s over a slow healing abrasion, one that’s slow to heal. Just an annoyance, but she was fine. She was alert, she was paying attention. ”Us ghosts are far more interesting.” And maybe that’s what she was. Ghost of Lagoon past.
