Meadow

Somewhere along the way, something had broken.

Not in her, never in her. Yazheen was perfect- a well oiled machine that had engineered and sculpted into something beautiful. Though beautiful in the conventional sense, for she had the body of a dancer and the face of a dove, there was something terribly wonderful in the way she moved. There was a dark aura about her, and still it attracted the attention of others.

“Is everything alright?” A voice probes into the voice, scraping across the speckled woman’s flesh, and she turns to her slowly, noting how she keeps her distance, careful to step into her bubble.

Good.

They were learning.

The second, a woman carved of her own lands, but now as carefully sculpted as her own people (perhaps this is pride of vanity speaking, but there is something woefully wrong about this other desert woman), is also careful to approach, almost clinging close to the edge of Yazheen’s personal space, and one more reaching out with gentle words. Perhaps the women here had not learned the fury of the sun, perhaps they had grown fat on the grasses that grew aplenty beneath this accursed snow.

Yazheen barely has time to size them up, noting their meek presences and their careful approach, before there is yet another.

Party time.

Black and looking more snake than mare, this newcomer speaks without apology and incites the rage bubbling in the belly of the bay mare. “I am not of your kin.” She speaks her first words since coming to these isles, baring her teeth back at the black mare and pressing her ears back against her neck. The other two, meekly keeping their distance and asking words of comfort and solace, are almost ignored. “I’m fine.” She spits at them, before lunging forwards, accepting Maraigh’s test of dominance that had been aimed at the stranger, taking it upon herself to awaken the violence.

And it felt good.

Darting forwards, her legs feel strong, even as her hooves dig sickeningly into the snow, and her teeth snap and she loves the sound, the sweet sound of combat that seemed to be coaxed out of her by the dark woman, reaching for any flesh she can find. They were two of a kind, bristling at their spines and testing each other’s limits. Perhaps their audience would flee in fear, or they would watch in wonder, as Yazheen accepts the bearing of Maraigh’s teeth as a challenge, despite it being a gesture that was not for her.