Qeya River do you don't you want me to love you?

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Implied sexual violence

In life, she had been beautiful. A dark coat, a shimmering mocha in the sun. Not that anyone could tell, now, in its current bedraggled state. Just a still, slight form, waterlogged and broken.

The world had done her violence—or at least, a creature born of the world. Funny, that. . .how good and evil bloom from the same source. But perhaps it's foolish to think in terms of good and evil at all; rather, the correct way is to perceive the world in myriad shades of gray.

Even the most innocent of silvers have a touch of darkness in them, just as the charcoals hold the barest bit of light.

Her scent, and any others associated with her, was gone, washed away by the river. Even the air was too cold for her to rot. Instead, she lie frozen in the shallows, staring sightlessly ahead. The ebb of blood between her hindquarters had ceased, as had the crimson tide from her mangled throat.

The beast who'd slain this beauty hadn't even the decency to break her neck, give her a quick demise. She'd struggled, suffered. . .succumbed.

To all who knew her, she had a name, but no one knew her here. She was just one of many travelers, seeking a home for winter. She'd fallen into the wrong embrace, the wrong set of jaws. She hadn't even been naive, just trusting. Not foolish, just kind.

Now her home was here, on the banks of the Qeya River. Soon, it would be within the belly of a scavenging creature.

Written by Miryam