Thinking Provokes More Thinking
Solara has been sitting in her home for hours, well beyond the point of laziness. This has been from pure boredom, having no-pony or anything else to give her a reason to exit. The feeling of obscurity forces its way into her mind, making her even more depressed than she already was. Flipping her mane out of her eyes, Solara flips over onto her stomach, putting a slight weight on it, pressing into the Bright Orange coat. A sigh escapes her throat, feeling rough as it passes the unused, dry airway.
Solara decides she's had enough and rolls over until she slips off the side of the bed, falling partway to the ground as she unfurls her slender wings, flapping once, then twice, until she gathers enough air underneath her to hold her own weight. Flapping her wings, Solara floats slowly down to the floor, setting her hoofs beneath her in sturdy positions, as her full weight falls onto them, and she stands upright.
Tucking the wings in, Solara takes creaky steps as she regains strength in her tight muscles. Solara travels across the room to it's exit, a large oak door, set with golden trim and a large metal handle. Extending a wing and wrapping it tightly around the metal handle, she tugs backwards, until a soft click can be heard, followed by a creak as the door swings inward, forcing Solara to move out of the way as it opens completely, banging lightly against the wall.
Not bothering to close it back, Solara trots nonchalantly down the cramped hallway, a crochet-style rug travelling it's length, on the floor. Framed portraits and other commodities adorn the walls, depicting a small Pegasus filly dangling from her father's sturdy hooves, or the same filly, now older, in a magnificently bejeweled tiara and dress, a handsome-looking Stallion at her side, wearing a similarly, if more masculine, crown.
Beside it resides a picture of the Father with a somewhat similarly aged Mare, both somewhere in their thirties. The Stallion wears a black, velvet tuxedo, with a formal white bow-tie and undershirt. The Mare wears a stark white dress made of a rich fabric, small pommels attached at varying positions, leading down along each of her hooves in intricately designed sleeves of similar material, complete with fold upon fold of the aforementioned. The Mare's mane is tied up into a small bun atop her head, wrapped around by a translucent silk veil, hanging around her mane and down over her face, making it somewhat less opaque. Both Pegasi smile with radiant, beaming smiles, a tear rolling lonesomely down the Mare's left cheek. In the uppermost right corner of the frame, a bright orange, young mare can be seen floating above the ground, wearing a lavish, if less magnificent version of the older Mare's dress, clutching onto a small bouquet of White Lilies.
After a long moment of nostalgia, Solara realizes finally that she had been staring at the framed portraits for quite a while now, long enough to increase the aching in her legs. Wiping away salty tears that had manifested themselves on her cheeks, Solara returns to the task at hand. Then she laughs. "What task?" she asks herself, "I don't even know why I'm up." Shaking her head with a flourish of her mane, she gives another somber chuckle, before crossing to the end of the hallway, just at the top of a steep flight of stairs. Her wings flare wide once more, as she flaps downward, picking up her weight. Angling her wings backward, she moves forward, and decreases flapping enough so that she begins to lower back down, at a slanted angle. The descent is rather quick, and she extends her legs and braces for the inevitable landing, bending them as her hooves strike the floor with a thump. Wings furled once more, Solara moves her neck, trying to rid herself of the queasiness that arises. I haven't flown in such a long time.. she muses. Flying... maybe that's what I need after all…
After short deliberation, and a hearty ruffling of her feathers, she walks the length of an overtly bland hallway, ending with a similarly designed oak door, like it's predecessors. With another feathery movement, the was wide open in a flash, with Solara already galloping outside in a flurry of wings and hooves.
Wings flapping furiously, Solara begins to rise into the air, until her hooves no longer reach the ground, now galloping at half effort, purely out of habit. Wind whips at her mane as she rises, trees swaying around her in a chorus of brittle sound, mixed with the chirping birds and nature's melody. Adding her own dull flapping to the myriad of sounds, Solara continues to rise, until she exceeds the height of the tallest of pine trees, wind now pushing against her as the surroundings fade far below.
Now many miles above the ground below, clouds encircle her as she continues to flap, increasing the strength and amount of flaps, elongating her limbs and torso in such a way to increase her aerodynamics. Wind continues tearing at her mane, as her speed reaches higher and higher, the landscape blurring by below, sea approaching from miles ahead. Her eyes struggle to stay open, tearing from the sheer force of the wind that thrusts against them. Solara pushes a bit lighter with her right wing, causing her to begin veering off to the right, now angled toward the mountains, where-upon she equalizes herself once more. For several minutes she just flies, edging closer and closer to the looming mountains in front of her, snow-capped peaks looking down upon all of Equestria.
After her long, tedious flight, Solara delights in seeing the peaks, and flies hastily upward, until she floats just above the lowest one. Landing softly in the densely packed snow, she turns around, facing the land below her.
This is where I live. she thinks to herself. All those ponies, mulling about their lives. All of them. Including me. We all live in such a trivial place....
She closes her eyes tightly, fighting back tears. Yes.. and I am glad I live here. Glad to be around so many wonderful ponies, to have such good friends to count on. Solara smiles warmly in the frigid landscape. No matter what hardships I've endured... I am never alone.
Shaking her head free of any tears, Solara laughs. I'm getting to emotional, lately.. Wings flapping once again, she rises, letting the chilled winds guide her off the peak, and into the sky beyond. Solara's Flapping increases until she reaches her prior speed, gasping for air at the effort, but unrelenting in her resolve. As the small buildings of Ponyville ebb into sight, a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, and she puts in one final burst of speed, angling downward towards her small Two-Story home.
Less than a mile from the soft grass below, Solara flares her wings wide, holding them stirnly in a downturned manor. Her feathers catch and grab at the air, tugging the entire wings back with much force as her decent slows continuingly until it reaches a crawl, just above the grass, and she lands soemwhat clumsily down, stumbling to her knees. Gathering herself, Solara rises shakily to her hooves, wings aching from their recent abuse.
"Gah.." she mutters aloud, "..maybe I should take it easy next time.." Letting her sore limbs remain unfurled slightly, she trots slowly to the still-open door of her humble abode. Upon closing the door shut, a thought winds it's way into her mind. How long have I been gone? With a curious goal in mind, Solara crosses the hall a few steps to stand beneath an ornate clock, majestic metal rungs twriled upward in varying angles, meeting in a pointed Fleur-de-Le. From behind the glass pane of the timepiece, the large arrow points downward at an angle, resting between the IV and V.
An hour.. and a half? That's it? A delighted, if somewhat tired laugh escapes her throat. Sweet Celestia, I must've been booking it. That's almost the amount of time it takes to read a ridiculously long Chatroom post.
Laughing at her own witty joke, Solara heads upstairs the old fashioned way, too tired to fly, and down the hall. Casting a sympathetic glance at the hanging portraits, she blinks, whispering her love to the two ponies, and entering her room. Falling flat onto the bed, she barely has time to yawn before she slips into the clutches of sleep, snoring rising from deep within her chest, muscles relaxing from their harsh treatment.
Your filly's all grown up… I hope I made you proud... is the last thought she managed before succumbing to her exhaustion.
