(please do not claim to peak/lagoon)
Luthien had been...terrible. Terrible atmosphere, terrible company, terrible grass, terrible trees, terrible living-really-close-to-your-father-and-being-really-mad-about-it. Terrible. Gris had stuck out like a sore thumb in the Thicket, brilliant gold and cream against the shadows and greens. It had not been the place for her, and if she had her way she'd never go back. Freedom, however, felt just as stale as it had when she had first arrived in the Commons. Her desire to be appreciated (from a distance) was actively at war with her desire to stand around and glare at everyone. Her father had been easy enough to chase back into the water when he bothered her, other horses not so much.
It was summer, at least. It was no Salem, but the sun warmed her sea-slicked back as she trotted up the shore from the water. It was comforting, like a warm hug. Not that Gris would know. It wasn't often anyone got near enough to hug her, unless they were on the business end of her teeth.
Before she had left Luthien she had heard that her father (and her brother) had left the islands. It would have made Luthien less terrible to know that, but she had escaped that green hellhole regardless of who spent their time prancing around in the Prairie. She was not inclined to arrive in the Commons and go directly into more grassland, and so Gris lingered on the shore. It was no Salem, not even close, but it was better than a forest.
With no destination in mind, she picked her way down the length of beach, crunching bits of driftwood beneath her hooves. Her ears remained locked against her crest. Her mane and tail, once bleached by the sun, had grown dark against, contrasted against the bright yellow of her coat. Along her sides were arches of white, rivaling the highest peaks and stretches of Salem. Less of a comfort than she had hoped.
She'd left Salem. And yet, she longed for it. But she also never wanted to go back. Gris was as difficult as she was an enigma. She wanted to belong somewhere, but she also didn't want anyone to talk to her. To look at her. To even acknowledge her presence in passing. Ever. She supposed she couldn't say Zevulun had never given her anything; she felt like she could never be enough. She had once thought she was enough for her mother; her best friend, her confidante. And yet the minute her little sister was born, Riesling had been like a ghost in Gris' peripheral. And so she'd gone to the Commons, alone.
And yet, here she was again.
Gris huffed and planted her feet in the sand, looking as sour as she was beautiful, as she stared across the water. She could see Salem in the distance and she could feel the way it called it to her. The way the desert sang to her very soul. But she also wouldn't mind if a storm swallowed it up and cast it to the very bottom of the sea.
lost daughter of salem
zevulun x riesling |