don't WASTE my tears

[Thylacine]

cri;
i can't waste my tears on her
cry, my child, cry[/color]

<sup>Wind whistled between the cliffs, nearly drowning out the sound of the constant humming that had kept the setting sun mare company since a few days after birth. Still, the faerie could hear, could reflect, could notice her surroundings. Careful, wench, there's a drop. Duck, mite, here comes a tree. With nary a sound save her buzzing, the palomino stopped, sightless eyes peering about her. She had never seen the colors that so many talk about. She couldn't tell you that her eyes were really the brightest blue, hidden behind the milky white that pushed aside the color. She could "see" things - pictures could easily be painted with sound, if your harks were tuned specifically for that job. And here she was, not far up on a tall mountain where the wind threatened to break the strong trees. Here she grazed.

Nares flared to catch the scent of another, flutes twitched for the same job. Tail was still for only the suicidal bugs would dare come up this high, to feast perhaps once and then be struck against the rock to have the blood splattered into the wind. No, Cri had nothing to fear.

Cri - the name of the bytch who so many had looked down upon. Sure, she had started innocent enough - a filly whose mother had been forcebred by two legs to create the perfect morgan equine. They had clapped each other on the back, praising their brilliance, until one had noticed the flicka's eyes. They cursed then, slapping her mother about her eyes until she, too, was near blind.

They visited each day, hoping the filly was dead. It was against their code of "honor" to kill any horse unless it was in pain - and Cri, the filly only her mother had named, was like any other filly. She just stumbled a bit more. Strangely, they noticed her a sound emitting from the filly that none other produced. At the same time, her accidents happened less and less. Though they wouldn't kill her, they turned her loose so she could die. She didn't die, but she learned hate.

Her hate was deeper than the fear forced upon her when her mother spoke of two legs. Now she wished them dead, wished all dead. But she wouldn't kill them - no, it would be suicide even to attempt. She left, and the dark palomino was seen no more along that area.

Though she didn't know it, the two legs that had turned her out searched for her. They had told their friends in other places about this strange foal, and many wished to buy her from them. But she was no longer theirs, and they cursed the day they let her go. She cursed the days she spent in fear without doing something to hurt them.

So here she was, where the wind ripped at her sanity. It couldn't grab hold - oh, no, not when her mind was locked behind the iron bars of her own cold heart. The heart that had never loved - probably never could love. The heart that once was innocent, yet her innocent was ripped away. A wild heart fueled by fury, "don't mess with me" written in every curve of her body. Who would dare to climb so high to reach the mare that haunted the dreams of the idiot two legs?</sup>

[esperanza]

Demon was a large powerful horse, capable of most anything he desired, but he was in no way like that. He had hated, hated beyond belief for many years, but it had all changed on day. How or why, no one knew but he himself. Now he came upon a mare who seemed to have that same hate boling up out of her. He was silent for a moment, but then called out to her with a soft nicker. He refused to aproach her unless she wanted him to, it was sort of an honor code.

[Thylacine]

cri;
you've found the poison in my skin
but you can't spit me out[/color]

<sup>Moans like the dead shifted over mare, bringing with it a new sound - the metallic clang of hoof on rock. Strong nape raised the proud skull from it's short feeding, sighless eyes gazing in the direction the other sound had come from. It was a stallion, a Fresian by the sound of things. She waited, silent as man's ignorant illusion of winter, as he came, through the fog that she could feel. He was a stallion - that was the main thing. A stallion had caused this thing upon her mother, and caused the pain that would never go away. But, alas, this was another stallion unknowledgable of what other brutes had done.

He spoke no words, merely stopping and watching her. Strange, like the knights forgotten now, like the life lost forever. If she had had them, her eyebrows would have been raised high in surprise. Hello, stag. Approach, if it be your will, she spoke, the humming stopping momentarily. She would perfect it - soon she would learn how to speak and hum at the same time. The high sun barely touched her back, barely breaking - or burning - the fog that surrounded the mountains. No, here was a land of peaceful repose, peaceful... something. But it wasn't for a peaceful heart.</sup>

[esperanza]

Demon stepped forward, there was something different about this mare, a sense of hatred, and confusion. He stopped before her, and remained silent for a moment, then spoke "Greetings" he said simply, "I am Archangel's Demon, currently of nowhere." He added the last part, knowing that mares often wanted to know where they resided.

[Thylacine]

cri;
you've found the poison in my skin
but you can't spit me out[/color]

<sup>A flicker of surprise rippled down the mare's spine - Archangel's Demon, eh? A lofty title, the sum of dirt. No land to claim as his own - it merely brought dust upon the current dirt level's head. Mare of pure hatred nearly snorted. But alas, snorting would be rude. She allowed herself a laugh at that, though it was nearly quiet. She didn't like sound much, but she really didn't like being taken for something she wasn't. And to not snort at the stallion - it was unbearably amusing.

Hello, brute of nothing. I am called Cri, though few enough speak it. It was true enough. The only ones she had ever told her name to were dead. It wasn't her fault. Twolegs were stupid creatures, killing off the king and queens of the equine world. Pitiful.</sup>

[esperanza]

"Then you and I have something in common," Demon replied, "Though I am sure that it is for two entirely different reasons." Nearly none spoke his name because they were all dead...because of him, by his own choice, by his own hooves. He closed his eyes remembering his past, but quickly shut out the memories again. He did not want to relive his past again...at least not now, not yet.