Unsound

Chapter |

Coarse, tuneless whispers spun like cobwebs on the brittle wind, snagging and catching, whistling and wheedling in the feeble, rasping breeze. The scent of dust; most likening to the bilious, trailing odour of sickness.

Home.

I was alone on the fields; rocks and stones littered the earth like beetles to flesh, their dull, dark surfaces glimmering ever so slightly in the sun.

The dust stung my fetlocks, weaving deep into my matted coat and niggling at my flesh as would a fly - but no bother. I watched as the sun began to sink towards the horizon. I could envision it - the glowing, celestial being choking, drowning in the sunken blue, blood emanating from her mouth as she cried out - and sinking. Lower, lower... Down she fell. I watched her throes as any other passer-by would - observing her agony for the meticulous interest of the mind.

It had been a long time since I last spoke as such. A month? A day? - yes. A day. And at the eve of each should Sun choke blood.

My eyes stared - nonchalant, impassive, at the last simmers of petty light before it sputtered and scrabbled for a hold at the peaks of the mountains. It never could quite hold on though, and it wouldn't now.

Down, down it fell.

The valley was purged in darkness.

The Skyblood lit the way as I turned, my hooves weaving between chunks of rock, somehow astray in the oddly barren landscape. I walked on at a steady pace, nonetheless. My hooves were chipped and stained; here, water was rare. We would be lucky if fresh rainfall was scheduled within the next six months, for Ma and Sir's bits were scarce - hence the hot, stale water heaved from the depths of the well, despite our efforts to keep it cool in the arid climate.

No matter.

My muzzle twitched as a scent caught adrift; a hot, vivacious scent. I turned my head to the source of the essence; a barn, it seemed. It was stark - naked, pale walls quartered only by strips of seasoned timber and atop it was lain thatch; green with rot and grime.

Home.

I watched, compassionless, as it burst into flame.

"Up now, up. Wake, Marble - Limestone." I woke groggily, my eyes blinking blearily to Ma's beckoning.

With a half-uttered sigh I rolled from beneath my quilt, placing my hind leg tenderly upon the wooden planks. Gradually, I eased my weight onto it, wincing, before encouraging its sister to handle the burden. My pale, sickly coat shone a dulled silver in the candlelight as I ambled toward the corridor, my flank brushing that of my sibling - Marble. She was an inch shorter, taking after our mother in build, though her eyes shone Sir's muddied amber.

She glanced to my crippled leg, and I barely nodded in appreciation as she extended her hoof - aiding me as I limped down the flight of stairs. No thanks was given as we reached the foot - only a mutual understanding of what must be undertaken. And so we lumbered to the door, and embraced the sickly veil of chill that I had come to associate with the outdoors. Dust, rocks, and the occasional blackened tree.

Marble strutted ahead, her silver mane glinting like hematite in the beige, cloud-filtered light that spilled upon the land. Ma was waiting, her half-moon, gold-rimmed glasses perched upon her muzzle as always, and her damp, sullied green mane ironed back into a tight bun.

"We are rotating the south rocks to the east field. Off!"

I stumbled numbly after Marble, whom was prancing into the last remaining interior of the original barn; the rest had been converted into living quarters. Within, lay an ancient, weathered cart, to which my sister was already fastening herself. Clenching the iron saddle in my teeth, I helped heave it onto her withers, the wooden wheels easing forth with a squealing groan, before maturing to a healthy, trundling rhythm as we made our way out, into the dust.

Already, my head was soaked with sweat as I laboured, throwing rocks into the back of Marble's cart, or nudging them encouragingly across the terrain. The barely-risen sun scored my coat, the heat increasing distinctly. Even the rocks seemed to sweat as my throat rasped, and my eyes watered from the dust. My hooves seemed to waver as if submerged in water before me, as I choked back a swell of nausea. My stomach was drawn tight and knotted - it would be at moonrise that I could finally feed. But it was not this that bothered me - no, it was the silence.

I glanced to Marble, whom had paused to examine a sedimentary rock - her muzzle was scrunched as she inhaled the musty, tasteless odour. It was often peculiar to think her my twin - although we looked alike, her spirit seemed to be lighter - more brisk than mine. She took pleasure in the earth beneath her hooves; the solemn company of the cart and the ingenuity in the formation of the stones for which we toiled.

There had once been a sister more alike to her than I; it pained me to think that Marble may be suffering her lack of company.

"I miss her."

Marble glanced up sharply, before raising her head to her full height. I hobbled to my three well hooves to meet her eye steadily, but her glare pinned me; akin to the eye of the eagle or the snake, those muddy amber jewels glinted harshly.

"Don't speak of her." She muttered, her eyes adopting a steely glint. "She's dead to us."

We trundled back to the barn, cart in tow. Our pelts were filthy and matted with dirt and the sun had long set, abandoning us to stumble in darkness. Marble refused to speak, as did I, but I do not know if it were because there were no words to be said, or neither of us had the words.

It was, as per norm, as First Star that I finally reached the sanctuary of my quilt, the frayed edges tickling at my cheek as I huddled for warmth. Across from me, Marble lay, her face to the wall.

With a sigh, I closed my eyes.

Coarse, tuneless whispers spun like cobwebs...