"What Was and Could Have Been"
L.M. Barrett AKA Kaoru Wolf, Heretic Animus
Summary: Shortly after Beauty's brief reunion with Ginger, he dreams longingly of what was denied them.
AN: I was challenged to write this- the point was to practice imagery. This is a movie that I saw as a child (based on a wonderful little book), and this scene takes place shortly before Ginger's death. It is raining, and as Jerry pull's Beauty's blanket tighter around him, he nods off and dreams of Ginger. To quote the script, he "dreams of what was and of what could have been."
I dreamed of her.
Swirls of gray and green, melding together. Flecks of alabaster, coral, and indigo. A mottling of russet and fawn. Blurs of chestnut, a flash of the deepest, lurid black.
I dreamed of what was and of what could have been.
I went to her, soaring over the dry, dying grasses and gliding over to her, a phantom of the dawn.
The beating of my hooves against the soft, yielding surface of the soil seemed to echo eternally. She lifted her graceful neck from the silky texture of the grass, recognition flickering in her deep, sparkling eyes.
Light barely flowed over the ghostly forms of distant hills, flooding the secret meadow with a gentle illumination. Wisps of cool vapor cast a surreal aura to the scenery, a silken barrier between two worlds incompatible beyond unconsciousness.
She burst into a slow canter, pacing herself so I could follow just behind her. She leapt over a fallen branch with such spirit and confidence, slowing to a smooth, graceful trot. Her muscles rippled as she pranced, neck arched and coat gleaming in the dim, early morning sunlight.
I trotted alongside her, mimicking her movements perfectly. We turned and bounded across the endless field of our dream, kicking up dust and particles of grass. We galloped through the pond and leapt to the sky, dancing and prancing and never planning to stop.
I eased to a walk, pausing to nibble on the luscious herbs and shrubbery. Ginger trotted languidly over to where I was grazing, standing nearby and raising her head to breathe in, testing the air and enjoying the comforting fragrance of thyme and clover.
In the distance, a thundering of hoofbeats pierced the everlasting quiet of the rustling branches and trilling sparrows. I raised my head, ears flicking curiously at the intruder's blurred form galloping through the misty curtain of fog. The colt stopped short at the sight of me, chestnut coat gleaming with a light sweat.
Ginger nickered at him fondly, and he moved closer to stand at his mother's side.. He studied me inquisitively, naturally cautious of an older stallion. His scent was familiar, a pleasant mixture of Ginger's and my own. I felt as if I had already known him, as if summoned to my own blood.
I felt a stream of pride rise inside me, and I studied him affectionately. He took after Ginger, sporting the same gleaming chestnut coat and long, graceful legs. His markings were more similar to hers, but I could still find some resemblance to his sire. He certainly had Ginger's spirit and confidence, evident from the proud way he now pranced about the meadow.
I nuzzled Ginger, contentedness flooding my being. And Merrylegs, the old valiant pony, was suddenly there as well. He mischievously maneuvered towards the colt, coaxing him into boisterous play. The two raced about the field, coats glimmering as they dodged in and out of the morning sunlight..
The excitement was contagious, and I could feel it welling up inside of me. I strode towards my two other companions with high, bouncy steps. We bounded and leapt. Bucked and reared up, galloped and cantered, trotted and then darted under the brilliant, rising sun.
What should have been.
Happiness…
Surrounded by my old friends again…I don't remember ever feeling so peaceful. The sunshine warm on our backs, Ginger nuzzles me gently. The affection glimmering in her eyes softens my heart. I don't want to go back- to the crowded city streets, to the noxious smog, to the angry, hurting people- not even back to Jerry or the cab. I would have died here in this field if it meant that I could stay with them forever.
But something is calling Ginger, and she pulls away. With one last, loving touch of her nose to mine, she turns to face the rising sun and takes off. I watch her until she disappears as a sillouette against the new sky, my eyes on her until the rays become painful.
Merrylegs gives one final bellow before both he and the wiry colt fade from view, and I am alone once again in the large pasture. I know that this is goodbye, and when I finally do return to this harsh reality, I think of her.
Goodbye, my sweet one…
End