She had been in the swamp a long time and yet, often, it felt like no time at all.
She wandered. Meandered along endless stretches of the coast, letting the water brush up against her hooves, bringing with it the scent of salt and brine, the taste of the ocean in her mouth. Then, later, drifting through the woods, with the towering, mossy trees above her head and keeping the sunlight from warming her flank, humid air and the scent of ivy leaves, of lush underbrush and sour fruit. And again, passing silently through a cave system, with craggy rock faces biting at her sides and her legs and her muzzle, the sound of dripping water all around her, everything dark and secluded and cold and clammy.
She was looking for -
- something. Something that fluttered in her chest, an alive thing that made her wander towards a copse of trees at the edge of a field, everything spindly and bare, the leaves all gone and crunching beneath her hooves. It was here that she found the crystal, gently glowing, trapped under a thick, curling root that burst up through the uneven ground like something reaching for the surface to breathe the fresh air.
She took it home. It was a pale, simple thing of muted colors and an opalescent hue that shimmered even in the dark. It remind Smoke of eyes in the dark and the possibility of, perhaps a bit wistfully, the changing of the seasons, though she couldn't have said why that was. Sometimes she looked at herself and remembered that she was unpretty, and that nothing had ever felt right within herself - but then the season shifted around her, and the wind carried with it the scent of crisp, cold air and frost on the leaves and perhaps it was not so bad.
When she slept, she dreamed. And when she dreamed, she thought of herself, again, except no longer as she was, the richness of the color of her pelt a warmer and bolder contrast to her current one, something still tame in comparison to the brightly colored birds in a rainbow of hues around her, but still vibrant. She looked at herself and felt the stirrings of surprise, and then, on its heels, a sense of satisfaction and reassurance. There were tendrils, too, looking smoky around her throat, a shimmering of colors across her body that improved upon something that was already there, bringing out the existing shades and exacerbating them. And there, too, perhaps a little more color, a little more of things she hadn't seen before, here and there, just little pieces that glinted like shards of ice.
She felt whole again. It made her heart trip inside of her chest and she thought, maybe, she could stay here, if she tried hard enough.
She wandered. Meandered along endless stretches of the coast, letting the water brush up against her hooves, bringing with it the scent of salt and brine, the taste of the ocean in her mouth. Then, later, drifting through the woods, with the towering, mossy trees above her head and keeping the sunlight from warming her flank, humid air and the scent of ivy leaves, of lush underbrush and sour fruit. And again, passing silently through a cave system, with craggy rock faces biting at her sides and her legs and her muzzle, the sound of dripping water all around her, everything dark and secluded and cold and clammy.
She was looking for -
- something. Something that fluttered in her chest, an alive thing that made her wander towards a copse of trees at the edge of a field, everything spindly and bare, the leaves all gone and crunching beneath her hooves. It was here that she found the crystal, gently glowing, trapped under a thick, curling root that burst up through the uneven ground like something reaching for the surface to breathe the fresh air.
She took it home. It was a pale, simple thing of muted colors and an opalescent hue that shimmered even in the dark. It remind Smoke of eyes in the dark and the possibility of, perhaps a bit wistfully, the changing of the seasons, though she couldn't have said why that was. Sometimes she looked at herself and remembered that she was unpretty, and that nothing had ever felt right within herself - but then the season shifted around her, and the wind carried with it the scent of crisp, cold air and frost on the leaves and perhaps it was not so bad.
When she slept, she dreamed. And when she dreamed, she thought of herself, again, except no longer as she was, the richness of the color of her pelt a warmer and bolder contrast to her current one, something still tame in comparison to the brightly colored birds in a rainbow of hues around her, but still vibrant. She looked at herself and felt the stirrings of surprise, and then, on its heels, a sense of satisfaction and reassurance. There were tendrils, too, looking smoky around her throat, a shimmering of colors across her body that improved upon something that was already there, bringing out the existing shades and exacerbating them. And there, too, perhaps a little more color, a little more of things she hadn't seen before, here and there, just little pieces that glinted like shards of ice.
She felt whole again. It made her heart trip inside of her chest and she thought, maybe, she could stay here, if she tried hard enough.