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-> -- Midnight In Montgomery, 15:06:00 04/15/02 Mon (64.12.105.33)
He sees her answer, oh, you don't have a story of yourself? Or are you afraid to tale such? I have a bad history myself, how bout a deal you tell me yours and I do the same, nothing could be to much worse than the hell I've been through, he laughed slightly.
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// Disagree // -- *Raya, 15:21:06 04/15/02 Mon (205.188.199.59)
"I disagree. There is much that can be worse, including my story." Auds flicker about, and despite herself, she is curious. Nostrils flare as she inhales deeply. "Very well then." Feeling unable to tell the tale in voice, she gives it to him in the form of knowledge-telepathic communication:
; silverblood unicorn stood before Gharibe, blood dripping from a deep gash in its side into a small, magically made earthen bowl. The blood was deep silver – hence, the title ‘silverblood’. The bowl disappeared, and appeared magically in front of Gharibe.
“Drink,” her father commanded. “Drink, and become a true blackblood.”
She looked at the bowl. The scent of blood drifted up to her, sweet and innocent. It was supposed to make her scornful, but instead it nearly set her to weeping. To drink the blood of one of such innocence would be a crime - and unlike most blackbloods, the idea did not appeal to her.
She looked up at her father, then her mother. Their gazes were cold, uncaring. Then she looked at the silverblood. It came back to consciousness, and raised its head to look at her feebly. Undoubtedly it knew what was running through Gharibe's head, and Gharibe saw pity in its gaze. She was touched; this unicorn was on the ground, with blackbloods all around her and her blood in a bowl to be drank by a blackblood foal - and it could still feel pity for another? She looked up at her parents; saw their cold gazes glaring down at her - commanding her to drink the stuff before her. She looked down at the bowl of silver blood, then at the unicorn again. She looked at her parents. "No!"
"What?" her father said, in a quiet voice full of barely-controlled rage.
"No! I won't drink it! I won't!"
"WHAT?!" There was no control in his voice now; it was all rage. A ball of fire came racing towards her. It hit her, scorching both the purely instinctual shield she had constructed around herself and its maker. Pain was all she knew, and then - nothingness. Blessed, merciful nothingness. She sank into unconsciousness with a sigh of relief.
But then she was yanked back into reality, and into the presence of pain. But this time she fought it down. Only a moment had passed while she was unconscious. The silverblood was on its feet, and keeping the blackbloods away from Gharibe.
Gharibe struggled to her feet, and fled. She fled so long that where it had been midnight when she began running, it was dawn when she stopped. She looked over at the rising sun. One ray in particular caught her eye.
Gharibe meant 'stranger', and she hated the name. It was time for a new one. It was as though someone whispered the name in her ear: *Raya. Spanish for Ray.
And so from there on, she was *Raya.;
*Raya inhales deeply again, and awaits the stallion's response.
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