Falls

You. That single word drives a swirling, chaotic storm of emotions through the midnight colored mare that she dare not let escape. It was not said with love, nor wanting, as some pined for. As she had once done as well. It was said with meaning, with a goal in mind; but it was the fact that this silver haired woman had chosen her despite all that was clearly stacked against her. The death had been looming over her (and still did). That she was no longer sleek and unmarked, but haggard and scarred; all which clearly did not matter.


Then, Crow’s thoughts came to a sudden halt. Though Nyimara had said it as a murmur, it was clearly a dare. A challenge to beat the odds. A harsh snort escaped the ebony mare before her tired legs carried her closer to the Queen. “You have not told me your name, nor the land you hail from.” Crow said as she come to stand face to face with woman. “But it’s clear what you seek is not the same as others. If you want a wraith, you will have to give me the power to be one. Else I am no better than a meek lamb for slaughter.” Without the title, Crow knew no matter her talents, she could not use them. Nor was she interested in wearing a crown to simply take it, as this woman did.


With her thirst slackened, and the salt washed from her abused flesh, Crow moved passed the mare and up onto the shore. It was there she lowered battered body onto the ground. The soft grass was comforting and despite how badly she wanted to go to sleep, Crow reached out and begun to graze around her. For each snatch of grass she took, her eyes watched the mare. This was her answer to the challenge of survival.