Tangerine Posted February 1, 2016 Share Posted February 1, 2016 (edited) On the Plains Here she is. On the plains, riding, with the wind flowing through her hair and the horizon as her goal. Here is where she is calmest, or should be. However, her thoughts can’t help but wander to how, six months ago, her father would’ve been by her side, smiling indulgently as she rambled on her day, on her dreams and wishes for the future that didn’t involve fire and falling axes and- Her breath hitches and she coughs to clear her throat, letting go of the reins as she rubs roughly at her eyes. No more tears. No more tears. She must get stronger. Stronger than anyone, especially the Taliver! Strong enough to crush them, shatter them like twigs under a stallion’s hooves. So, she takes a shuddering breath, shakes her head, and takes back the reins. The wind gusts and she coos wordlessly to her horse when he skitters and dances. Her horse. He had once been her father’s, and had been the one to carry her to safety when everyone died. And still stays with her, listening to her. All that’s left of the Lorca, a chieftain’s weak daughter and a horse who puts up with her. What a fine pair they make. His whinny drags her from her thoughts and she pets his mane as she notices how restless he is. Is it her thoughts troubling him, or is he hearing something she cannot? Were Father Sky and Mother Earth trying to speak? She cannot hear them, though she had once. She wonders if her hatred, her anger, keeps her ears closed, but throws the thought aside. Revenge is all she has left. She yelps as her horse suddenly bolts. From walking to cantering to galloping in heartbeats, fast as the wind itself, hooves thudding into the dirt. She tries to rein him to a stop, but he actually yanks the reins from her hands, ignores her commands and presses to his side. She leans forward and grasps his mane, determined not to fall. The last time he did this, they had been fleeing the destruction of the Lorca. Perhaps he was, again, trying to save her. From what, she didn’t know. But it is a possibility she cannot deny. Slowly, eventually, he slows to a stop, sides heaving from exertion. She dismounts, running her hands over his neck as she checks for signs of strain. There is none, so she surveys the area. Another section of the plains, far farther than she had ever ridden, certainly farther than she had planned. Why is she here? Why had he raced here? Slowly, she walks around, turning to catch every glimpse of movement. What is here? Was there nothing? Had he simply wanted to run? Her foot catches on something and she crouches down to study it. A piece of brown cloth, and her fingers soon find an arm underneath. A person. A living person, collapsed and unmoving. Cautiously, she moves the hood, wondering if the person might stir. But all she finds is a head of brown hair, and a flushed face, hinting fever. She clicks her tongue, calling her horse as she struggles to lift the person on her back. They groan at the movement, but do not wake, even when she throws them onto her horse, climbing on after to make sure they don’t fall. Once she’s certain they are secure in front of her, she eases her horse into a gallop, back to her ger. She has medicinal supplies there, gathered on the off chance that she found some wounded survivor and left unused. She could save this person. She knows it. They groan again, mumbling something about ‘tactics’, and she smiles. “Hold on,” she whispers. They whimper and she tightens her grip on them. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.” She’d make sure of it. Edited February 1, 2016 by eclipse Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
eclipse Posted February 4, 2016 Share Posted February 4, 2016 This is halfway between a short story and a poem, if the repetition throughout the story is intentional. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Kakeyo Posted February 4, 2016 Share Posted February 4, 2016 This is halfway between a short story and a poem, if the repetition throughout the story is intentional. I think it's definitely meant to be more like a poem. It felt like an artistic interpretation of a brief scene. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
SirRob Posted February 5, 2016 Share Posted February 5, 2016 (edited) I like the writing style. I think the scene could be expanded even further, although I understand the length due to the nature of the contest. I agree with eclipse, this is sorta in between a poem and a short story. Edited February 5, 2016 by SirRob Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Balcerzak Posted February 5, 2016 Share Posted February 5, 2016 Damn if this writing doesn't have voice. Stumbles a bit in a couple places technically, but expressively it's rock solid. It's also the perfect length for what it tries to say, in my opinion, which is a hard thing to manage. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Meldorn Posted February 6, 2016 Share Posted February 6, 2016 Wow. Like everyone else has said, your writing style is like a kind of poetry. Very emotional--it cuts to the chase and tells a story without having to burden the reader with the details. You simply portray the raw emotions with a hint of context, and that's enough. Again, the length is unusual for this contest, but it works for this piece. I think it's just right. :P Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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