Architects · 9:15am Sep 3rd, 2022
S'up. Been a while, hasn't it? But yeah, I've been writing some horsegriffonwords here and there. It's very rough, and I'm not sure if it'll go anywhere or see the light of day, but here's a small part of it that I liked and thought I'd share.
Gilda pressed the tea leaves into place, her claws creating shitty jigsaws of them as she fought against the afternoon breeze and her own savage heartbeat.
Like it was her last, she inhaled. The leaves smelt like they tasted—of her. That was why they were there, after all, hanging on like half-fulfilled promises in the borders of the nest. No doubt Fluttershy would recognise the familiarity of their scent and the memories the bruised surfaces represented.
Or maybe she wouldn't. Maybe she would just stare at the mess with Gilda's eyes and wonder what was the fucking point of it all. Quietly, though, and delicately, because that was who she was, and who she was was what she had achieved. Which was a damn sight more than an "A for Effort, Gilda, you should be so proud" reputation and a beak that knew how to smile a little more and scowl a little less.
With a hunter's instinct, Gilda's ribs clenched tight around her lungs. The warm air was pulled and pushed by erratic pulses and her body tried to figure out whether it was starving or suffocating. Junior Speedster Flight Camp all over again, that was what it was. Run scared or stand fast and drown in it. So Gilda had tried to drown, but like everything else before and since it had been a parody, a sham. A stupid attempt to set her mind to something and stay the course—to build something for herself that she could be proud of. But Gilda didn't know how to drown, only how to kick out limply at those who tried to drag her along to the distant shore.
The tea leaves caught her eye as they fluttered. One that had been damaged by her efforts sagged and curled, held in place only by thin fibres and brute force. Gilda pinched it gently between two claws. Then she tore it loose and released it to dance and fly in the breeze. It didn't, though; with a petulance that was almost comforting the leaf span to the ground and refused to move further.
Grandpa Gruff had always said she would never amount to much. But that wasn't true, she had.
Gilda stared at the immobile leaf. Hadn't she?
Good luck!
5684210
Thank you! Very kind.