Anyway, here it is, I hope you like. I am unsure of this piece, but there you go, that's for you to decide. Still, here you go:I didn’t want to think about my ignoring the war bells; I simply tacked her up with a rug – ignoring the usual leather saddle and head harness – and sprang onto her back. She stood obligingly while I struggled to shut the wooden door, being nearly a metre above it, but was all too eager to spring immediately into a gallop when it was done.
“Calm, Gira. We have to get out of camp first.” I murmured, leaning over her neck to whisper it into her ear. She whinnied in impatience but continued at a gentle walk.
Gira was my gift from Old Mage having become a full-fledged Warrior and was the most elegant creature in all the stables. Her body was strong and muscled, her haunches thick with the power they stored, and yet she managed to look as graceful as the herons who waded through the marshes; neck arched, slim head held high and blue eyes twinkling. She was an all white horse except one smear of black over her chest. I was pained to see the symbol in that.
Now, easing through the myriad of tent, I smiled broadly and watched in delight as people stopped their business and glanced up to marvel at her.
They even spared a second look at me, for here was the place in which I thrived. I could ride better than any other in the tribe – even better than the Queen. I had a connection to these creatures that all the others could only dream of, and it made every minute of the ride feel as if we were one body, part of the same spirit.
I dropped back over her neck and kissed her before whispering, “Take us far. Take us up the highest mountain and to the furthest plains. Run, Sister, run like you were born to.”
I took a hold of her feathery mane and grasped her sides with my legs. She threw back her head and leapt forward, turning into a gallop as soon as her hooves met the soft soil. I cried out as we flew down the steep incline that banked our camp and onto the flatter, more even plain below.
Mud and small pebbles skipped off in all directions as Gira’s hooves bit at the earth. Tufts of grass were flattened beneath her pounding gait and I pitied the little creatures who lived under the surface; thinking how frightened they must be as their tunnel-houses trembled under the pressure. But it wasn’t unnatural. No, we were like the beautiful wild horses who danced across the land in their herds of many; they were as natural as the sun in the sky, the water in the lakes and the rain in the blackest of clouds.
We frolicked for many hours in each other’s company, playing with the wind and galloping over the hillsides, scattering birds as we went. I performed on Gira’s back; my toes digging into her silken coat as I stood on one leg while the other stretched outwards. My laughter was echoed by her gleeful whinnies throughout the rest of the day until twilight eased over the sky and my sense of self-preservation drove me home.
The camp was abuzz with the electricity night brought. Adult women sat in clusters, cooking the evening meal and children sped off to find friends and to play games. I checked Gira was secure in her stable before turning homeward to where Old Mage would already be dozing.
I watched the tribe children sadly, seeing in them what life I could have had. Their laughter was carefree and happy, while mine had always been tainted with bitterness and I had always been guarded, even with Old Mage. They leaped and bundled into each other throwing themselves about the tents. I stopped and watched quietly.
One girl, her forehead gleaming with sweat, looked up at me and smiled. I raised a hand and waved, feeling hope blossom inside me, but her eyes suddenly clouded with anxiety and she sped off in the opposite direction.
“There you go, Myra.” I whispered hoarsely to myself, kicking a pebble. It seemed all too willing to go; it bounded far away, running from me. “Even the children know to avoid you.”
I trudged forward, my toes and fingers going numb from the cold. Wind snapped at me, reaching ice-encrusted hands to stroke my skin; wailing piteously. The whole camp seemed abruptly deserted. With a brief drop in the temperature, everyone had darted back inside to continue their activities and it left the world outside our tents – lifeless.
Smoke rose from Old Mage’s tent and I was craving the warmth that the fire was sure to give. Yet when I heard someone talking in whispers just behind one of the dens, I stopped. The young girl from before was sitting on the ground, raking grass through her stubby fingers, while someone of my own age and training group stood beside her.
“Why is the Princess always sad?” the little girl asked, her brow knotted. My peer laughed scornfully.
“By Princess you mean that pitiful excuse of a Warrior – Myra?” she said, her eyes mocking. “Oh yes she’s always sad, isn’t she? Always moping about the camp or playing with that damned horse of hers, while we labour on.”
I closed my eyes, feeling calmer that way, and forgetting the slight warmth in my heart at the young girl’s concern. Lia, the deputy’s spiteful daughter. My one and only true enemy. Fire rose within me at even the mention of her name, memories, black as pitch, of days past with a spider in my boot, a lost horse, a failed hunting expedition because of a twig-snapping that frightened the deer, followed her like a fine, grey mist.
“Well haven’t you heard the story?” Lia asked, disbelief colouring her voice. I cringed; why was I here? What good would it do to listen, yet again, to my sad biography? But something kept me, held me rooted to the ground. Maybe it was a need to see how the girl would react, maybe that I wanted to try and stop Lia, somehow, from telling.
And yet I stayed utterly still.
That's it, please comment.
And I will return you the favour. ~Ash~
