The Unspoken Language

The days bound in ash and sweat, braced with fear and revulsion. I feel the pressure braided, like rope and knots, caught in my throat. Fell creatures of night, men, and the shudder of their touch on my skin has become poison. Sjana paced the landscape outside of her bedroom window, scanning every inch with her sage colored eyes. In her lap, a notebook, on which a white fountain pen scribbled unconsciously. She wouldn’t let herself think, nor would she listen to the pounding in her mind. The memories she had left behind, locked far away.

“Sjana! Get down here!” Madame Celine’s cold voice stung like a whip, tearing through the thin veil of protection. The only barrier between Sjana and the bony fingers cracking through the door in her mind. Madame Celine... No! No more Madame, no more orders, no more men. She stared at the shiny metal scissors in her hand and knew she didn’t have it in her to use them. Fuck. “Sjana, I will not ask again!” The harsh voice came again.

Panic rose in her like the sharp notes of a violin. Fuck. She stood up and seized the chair beside her, wedging it between the door handle to her room and the floor. She then retrieved the line of linens tied together to form a rope, from the hiding spot beneath her bed, and tossed it out her back window. As she did so she rolled her eyes at its cliché, thinking back to the fairytales her Gran had once read her. Once upon a time. This wasn’t a fairytale though, this was real life, or a nightmare, she couldn’t decide. Dressed only in a nightgown Sjana muttered her thanks for the warm spring weather, as she escaped the dark countryside mansion and disappeared into the woods. One glance back and she saw a pale face in the window beside her room. Alayna. The pale blank face, emotionless. Sjana knew that she would never see her again.

~

Sjana walked barefoot through the forest, it had been close to an hour. They would already be out looking for her. But she was no longer scared. They would never find her, not in woods like these. She whispered forgotten words on the wind. Words her Gran would sing before bed, words promised she would never share. Only to be revealed to another daughter. Daughter of the same blood. Blood of the wind-mare.

The moonlight was fresh like clear water on Sjana’s skin. She smiled as she trailed her fingers along the old bark trees, humming and singing, knowing that her voice would be heard. Leaving the manor far behind, she was ready for the woods to take her.

And then she stopped her song to hear. Distant hoofs to the east. Circling steps, now behind; no, in front. She spun, feeling the slow steady steps like a heartbeat. Near then far. Then there he was. A tall, black stallion. His hoofs stood still on the ground, his head towards the moon, dark chestnut eyes drinking in its light.

A n i l a e e l a e o f ü s. The ancient language poured out of her.

Shifting his eyes to her, he bowed his head in greeting and a feeling soothed through her like brushed walnut hollows, and soft rays of sun in the golden hours. She returned his bow and in her mind spoke his name.

E l a n t r i ê l~

Soft wind on her bruised body left behind the scars in dirt. Each breath carried in the mists. Sjana grazed her fingers across the horses long jaw and placed her forehead on his. She stood tall, the tears from her eyes, those of power and strength. She mounted him bareback, removing the final veil from her body. Her night gown cast to the ground below. Together they went slowly, into the woods, silence a shared language between bodies of wind, and the mists trailing voices in far away plains.