trees with slight traces of a struggle long since past
the eastern woods of the valley are silent and still
except
for the sinner's hoofsteps
and the little voices that bore Her face
telling Her
anything She wanted to hear
and everything She didn't
so strong and clear
now that there were only reminders
only limits
clipped feathers and hobbled hooves
blinded ears
deaf ears
numb, aching heart
there was only this in the east woods
away from it all beyond the snow and ice
that swallowed ponies and painted the land
blanket after blanket until only the howls of the wind
could be heard
Her occasional scream
bloodcurdling, twisted, earsplitting
drowned by
any could hear
and all those who couldn't
not-so-little angel who was Her truest companion
wide-eyes and strong heart to face the world
gone
it could be forever
sun's eyes, blinded by light
bent on judging appearances
see this only now
there was no farewell
no sorry at the first fight
only Her self-assurance
'We are right, We are right'
maybe it had been the little whispers
shouting together
even if it had not been
never once did She say
why She had been right
it was only automatic
a pleasantry so sickly sweet
She wished it were a poison
just so She might drink it
to see what it would do
might it bring her heart
to the outside
so all could see
would they still love their wolf clothed in wool
their blind god
knowing She was the rottenest apple of them all
appearances really were deceiving
a bearded sage on the outside
but only a bigoted husk within
proud shining, smiling glory
crumbling
pathetic
petty almost-monster
for a core
She looks away from the ground
littered with dull shining shards of gray
so crystalline in nature
so pristine on the outside
yet just as broken up as She
who kicks them under the snow
with a travel-heavy leg
and tries to crush them underhoof
before looking at the day's journey ahead of Her
little voices echo around Her, and only one of them is Hers
phantom bellows from the wizard who never knew
honesty
he lied to them when bringing them here
saying they would be safe
kindness
his manipulation was testament enough
to the absence of that trait
laughter
how was laughing when they were hurt during training real
generosity
he was but a miser, hoarding the little goddesses
loyalty
he put no dedication in anything leaving all endings
like his
magic
blank
the sound of a haughty tone
so young and vain
can still be heard
trying to master each 'thou' and 'thee'
as if Her behavior was not enough of an insult
to the little shadow
that lingered in the trees
silent but for a few whispers
protests of innocence at the latest accusations
only to be ignored
even clover's nervous ramblings
little parables
to keep meek little rabbits like herself
safe from the traps that waited
were so much louder
by comparison