in the day that you were born?
tell me, do you believe?
Word Count → 407 :: Sorry for the wait on this! :c The song she's singing is here; lyrics are not included in word count.
Pia had finally traveled south, mounted on her filly as they wove down the mountain trails and broke into a gallop through the flat wilderness. The pockets of her cargo pants were full of pinecones and feathers and flowers plucked from trees, and she decorated Poppy’s strawberry mane with what she could. The cones had long been crushed due to the ride, but she crinkled the pieces in her hands and inhaled their distinct scent happily.
They passed mountain and forest and beach now, and Poppy’s hooves were startlingly loud as they hit the pavement. Her footfalls echoed around the empty buildings, nothing like the muffled thud on a carpet of pine needles and rotten leaves. A restless owl hooted and flew above the gap between two buildings, black and silhouetted by the sun for a heartbeat. The smells around her were unfamiliar now, no foliage in sight other than weeds poking through asphalt and vines strangling buildings with the intent to drag them down.
She acted as if she’d been born in a city, however, smiling idly at the buildings they passed and inhaling deeply when the brine of the sea hit her nostrils. She urged Poppy into a canter, steering her around the forever-parked cars. It was at least less desolate-looking than the highway in Ichikan territory, with once well-groomed trees growing in yards and birds twittering from windows. She didn’t let the roan slow down until they reached the ocean, however.
The girl slid down from the saddle, breathless as she pushed her braid back over her shoulder. Thrusting her hands into her pockets, fingers fidgeting with the petals lining them, she sauntered toward the edge of the grassy beach. The harbor was more urban to the south, with ghostly ships floating wearily or half-sunk under the moaning waves. Docks and buildings sprawled in that area, too, with a backdrop of more skyscrapers.
Pia sighed, folding her hands behind her back now, and bit her lip as she wondered where to go. Poppy looked restless, bending her head as if to nibble the salty grass before shying away and glancing toward the buildings. Running her fingers through her mane, the woman smiled and sang softly.
She, like an angel weeping,
On the rocks sighed every day,
Awaiting for her own true love
Returning home from sea.
She fell silent only halfway through the song, however, leaning her head against the filly’s snowy-red shoulder. Her voice sounded too strange here, ringing hollow in the face of the ocean’s murmurs and the empty echoes of dead Halifax.
Pia Optime by Me; table code from the Mentors!
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