Aria & Alastair
Sept 22, 2011 18:11:18 GMT -5
Post by Swede on Sept 22, 2011 18:11:18 GMT -5
Name: Aria
Age: 7
Breed: Morgan
Height: 15 hh
Color: Dark Chestnut
Eye color: Black
Gender: Female
Markings: Stripe, right hind coronet. Left eye missing, scar
running along left side of face from behind the ear to the corner of her mouth.Name: Alastair
Age: 10 years
Breed: Morgan
Height: 15.1 hh
Color: Chestnut
Eye color: Black
Gender: Male
Markings: Flaxen
Purebred Morgans roaming the wild? Curious, indeed; but I can clear up any confusion by explaining that they were not always free. Alastair and Aria were born on a little farm, three years apart though from the same dam and sire. From the start, there was something that didn't quite feel-
Pardon me, Narrator- I would like to take it from here, if that's alright. Indeed- as aforementioned, I have not always been wild. I remember life behind a fence, though by now it is admittedly rather vague in my mind. I remember that I was four years old, when I decided it was time to leave. Aria was a yearling then... such a sweet little thing, I didn't have the heart to leave her behind. Why did I leave? I can't quite explain, not exactly. There was the tack, for one thing- most of the other horses were fine with it, but something about the touch of leather against my face and cinched around my belly was too abhorrent to bear. And then there was the ennui, the predictability of every day- if I had been forced to remain for the rest of my life, I would most likely have gone mad.
The reasons are not important, anyway. The point is, I fled that place, and Aria came with me. In time, she grew from a gangly filly into a young mare- and what a mare she was! Had I not been her brother, I would have found her quite difficult to resist, I must confess. She was lovely to see, with her sleek silky coat and impeccable bone. Many mares are attractive, though; but Aria was blessed with a delightful character as well. She could make even the dreariest fellow laugh, and though she occasionally seemed a bit foolish, it wasn't ever enough to detract from the charms of her caring optimism and innocent outlook.
Such heavy praise, Alastair. You should have seen him back then- what a good brother, always keeping his dear little sister safe and protected. Though he was so serious for his age, and spent more time worrying about the future than enjoying the present. Of course, that could just be the flawed perception of a foolish filly. I suppose it is true, he could be great fun sometimes. What a perfect set of siblings we were! Me, the adorable little girl coveted by every stallion we met, and him, the strong, just, and loyal young stallion earning the reputation of a steadfast friend. But everyone has a dark side... isn't that right, dear brother?
Aria, please... I admit, I've often let my temper get out of control. When my anger is aroused, I can get carried away. But a 'dark side'? I do not know whether I would call it that. There are darker things out there... after some time of wandering, we came across a growing herd ruled not by one but three stallions. Ranger, Hunter, Koven: three friends who had managed to form some sort of symbiotic leadership. Our hooves were weary with travel, and Aria longed for the companionship of other mares for a while. She longed for the companionship- or perhaps more than that- of Hunter as well; but I was slow to pick up on this. I came to know these stallions, and consider them friends at least to some degree.
Hunter... now there was a fine stud. He dwarfed my brother in size and presence, and was quite simply the most magnificent stallion I had ever seen at that point in my life. Still is, really; but times change. Back then, though, I was caught between being shy and afraid to approach him- he did have rather aggressive tendencies- and doing anything I could to catch his attention. I think I did succeed to some extent. Naturally, my brother chose that moment to whisk me away.
Dear Aria, she was quite upset with me for a while. But I couldn't leave her there- not with that monster. Had Koven and Ranger understood the true darkness in their friend? I don't know. All I know is that I was wandering on the outskirts of the territory, and chanced to witness something I'll never forget. It was Hunter- that stallion is unmistakeable, even at a distance- and he was accompanied by a mare and her newborn. She must have been newly stolen, as she stubbornly resisted his advances and spoke to him with only contempt. Hunter may not have seen me, but I saw him. I saw as he lost patience and killed the newborn. A warning? Perhaps- but the mare was too anguished to realize it. When she spat fresh curses at him, he threw her down, broke her legs and left her at the mercy of whatever predator found her first. I'll admit, that as Hunter abandoned the scene, I slunk forward, and ended her pain. Aria calls me merciless- but I have dealt mercy.
Though I didn't dare explain my reasons for leaving, I was still stallion enough to bid Ranger my farewells. Koven was too close to Hunter, and I was too cowardly to address Hunter himself anymore. Aria, Aria... if only she had fallen for Ranger instead. But she forgave me eventually- it wasn't in her nature to hold a grudge, sweet dear thing. And thus we traveled, onward and aimlessly.
Perhaps a year passed. It was some sort of mountain pass, and though the path was clear and easy enough to tread upon, the sky was dark and the slopes coated in loose rock and earth. I should have known better, but I was thoughtless. Halfway through the range, the storm hit, and massive amounts of water cascaded down the mountainsides. And then, without warning, the mountain itself began to move, as the mud and rubble slid downwards, burying the path. I ran in one direction; Aria ran in the other. Neither of us were harmed, but as we called to each other through the rain, we understood that the obstacles between us were impassable, and the slopes on either side too steep to climb. She would return to the mouth of the pass; I would circle around and meet her there in a day, two at most. Poor Aria, so afraid to be alone, but I promised I would come to her, and she promised to be there waiting for me.
That was the last time I saw my sister for several years. I searched the lands high and low, but it was as if the earth had swallowed her up. I did check the pass three times over, for signs of further landslides that might have taken her- but to no avail. I had no proof that she was dead- but neither was there any evidence that she lived. I was desperately alone, and though like any roaming stallion I romanced a mare or two that crossed my path, none were interesting enough to claim permanently, and I wished only to see my sister safe and well.
It was a lovely spring day, as I wandered along a winding river. I had given up hope of finding her again. And then, suddenly, there she was- one could not mistake that beauty for another. I galloped towards her and called out her name; she raised her head from the grass, and I slid to a halt, staring at her in shock and horror. The left side of her head had been gouged in a sickening manner; a long uneven scar ran from her ear to her mouth, highlighted by a glaring empty socket where once a soft, sweet dark eye had rested. What had happened to her?
You were so endearing, Alastair, with your questions and your concerns. Did I hurt you when I refused to spill the beans? I think I did. In fact, I've never seen you as upset in all my life as you were then. 'Why Aria, why won't you tell me? What's wrong Aria? What happened to you?' I would apologize, Alastair darling, but it wouldn't actually mean anything, so can't be bothered. You disappointed me when we were at last reunited, really... much less impressive than you once were.
I tried to convince her to come with me; and for a while, she did. But it was all a game to her. Gone was the generous and joyful filly I once knew; this creature was indifferent and heartless, mocking everything I said and did with a voice that might have been seductive, were it not so cynical. When danger loomed, and I tried to protect her, she laughed at me. She feared nothing; nothing delighted her, nothing moved her. Aria simply did not care. But in the night, when at last she fell asleep, I heard her whimpering in secret nightmares. My mistake; had I been wiser, perhaps she would have stayed, and perhaps I could have cured this madness, for madness I would call it. But I made the mistake of asking her why she was so bold by day and so fearful by night. Now Aria is gone again, and rumors fly on the wind of an old friend and an old enemy. What will become of this, I wonder?
