Meadow

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”Be safe, be smart…godspeed.”

Famous last words from overbearing parents.

"Figures” Mayson mumbles spotting a small knick on her left hind leg as she climbs from the ocean. What would her mother say if she saw the state of her daughter now? “Be more careful May, for gods sake, you’ll get an infection and die, is that what you want? Do you want to DIE?!” to which, of course, Mayson would shake her dark locks and grumble a ‘no’ and some sort of half-hearted ‘sorry’. Her mother would then launch into some sort of tirade about how Mayson would be the death of her and JUST WAIT until she tells her father.

Blah Blah Blah.

Mayson was a full grown mare who had been extremely sheltered all her life. Not allowed to play with her peers growing up, not allowed out at night, and definitely not allowed to court the young colts who paid her so much attention when she was younger. Eventually they had all forgotten about her, stopped inviting her to play, and all she had left were her parents. Finally, perhaps a week ago - she had decided to leave.

Mayson has always longed for adventure. When she was little, she would play among the sand dunes and dance under the palm trees that dotted the oasis her herd inhabited. She dreamt of pirates, of rulers and ladies in waiting, of oceans and lands teaming with new adventures (and perils) around every turn. But in reality each day dragged on much like the day before and eventually she knew she had to get out. Out from the watchful eyes of her aging parents, away from everything she has known all her life. She had to experience life for herself - and see if the world was really as awful as her parents seemed to think.

And so, with determination Mayson had left the desert and her family behind. She had taken to the ocean, and wound up here, wherever here was. Mayson takes a moment to look around. Icy blue eyes peer from behind heavy lashes. She smiles. A meadow lays before her, spring green plops up in clumps surrounded by day-old snow.

Snow.

She had heard tales, but this, this fluffy, beautiful, sparkling stuff is unlike any of the stories. Mayson gleefully dives her dished head into the stuff, startled as the cold fills her nose and she begins to sneeze violently. After recovering the mare gleefully darts forward laughing and kicking up her dainty heels, white snow flying in every direction. She is a child, perhaps not in body, but in soul.

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// Mare // Gray [ ] // Arabian // 14.3hh // 4 // No children // a fable character //