Yulara and her horse, Whiteowl

[This is an RP story for the MMO I play, World of Warcraft]

He was not a white horse. Whiteowl was named for his strength, sturdiness and silence, and also wisdom. She would often talk to him, when he ignored her she imagined he replied.

Yulara is a spiritual name which means ‘howling dingo’. A befitting name as she was rarely quiet herself, when in the company of only her horse she would still chatter away.

When Asandrian left, saying “you don’t really know me”, she took up the only thing left she could truly rely on, her trusty steed, and rode aimlessly, along the long, straight road.

The morning after Asandrian had said goodbye, Yulara received word her grandmother had passed away. It was all she could bare, spontaneously bursting into uncharacteristic sobbing, all the while people hushed and looked away. Atop her speedy champion, the wind whooshing past her eyelids and into her ears, his hooves clumping heavily, rhythmically, upon the cobbles, she yelled into the wind “I didn’t really want it anyway!” Her pain fell discarded upon the side of the road, unheard and unnoticed.

So urgent was her desire to be gone, Yulara sped her mount without stopping right past the large rock she used to visit for meditation and prayer. Several months earlier she had already made the pilgrimage to the sacred place and laid her hand upon the red ochre, finding the monolith surprisingly cool in the midday heat.

She had never seen snow and neither had her elderly grandmother, having lived all their lives in a hot and humid climate. Yulara finally found herself in a cold place. Yulara climbed up on a perilous precipice, swallowing her own fears to reach a place as far away as she could possibly get. When she reached the summit, she lay her hand on the snow, remembering her grandmother and her lost love. ‘Maybe this place is far enough away …’ she whispered, and she imagined even her horse had nothing to say.

The Journey, part one

The Journey, part two

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