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paint it black; any - Lior - 11-06-2016 The winter air conjurers thoughts of frigid wastelands, cracked lips and frozen hearts. The black stallion ventures to the meadow to appease the low rumble in his stomach, pangs that were sharp and ceaseless till the heavy male finds himself standing among the last bits of vegetation. Steely pools eye the bark of a few trees that stood naked and unafraid. If the temperatures were to drop further, he may have to resort to the dry tree skin for nourishment. Black as night and shaggy from ear to hoof, he moves methodically over the frozen ground. Here and there, he would drop his skull to tug at the last few bits of grass. They taste cold and brittle against his tongue, the sharp teeth chewing slowly as he savors the last bit of his meal. Cold wind digs into the thickness of his inky mane, jostling and tangling it in a flirtatious caress. Lior finds a clear space to break the white covering of snow, nosing away with lips and heated air. This winter would prove to be harsh but he welcomes with calm (almost relaxed) features, his only challenge made by his presence in the nearly empty meadow. Feathered limbs move Lior to where a small clump of conifer trees stood like a green sanctuary against the cold. Gray eyes find comfort in the way the fat snowflakes fall peacefully, sleepily to cover where his hooves once made their impression. The smell of pine sap and dry needles turn the edges of his lips upward in a slight smile as he finds peace in the solitude of being alone. Small tufts of frozen air roll from his nostrils like a sleeping dragon among his riches. RE: paint it black; any - Nayl - 11-06-2016
RE: paint it black; any - Lior - 11-07-2016 Despite the thick insulation of ancestors and bloodlines woven into his coat, the male is not a lover of this bitter cold. He much preferred the spring with a blossom of life and greenery, a promise for something better than the bleak gray palette of the winter. The frosted plumes drift from his own split lips as he bears the cut of cold air with a low grunt and grimace. From not far off stood a horse, splattered and colored like the very elements that surrounded her. Gray eyes are keen to her presence from beneath the blanket of his own brow when she calls out to him rather friendly-like. His hooves are slow anyway today and it wasn't like Lior had a real destination...and besides, opportunities to have some company are few and far in between during these frozen months. With a slight shrug to his own consideration, Lior deviates and turns a shoulder and face to the other. Limbs draw his close but a respectable distance away. He notices the lack of her coat, she is smooth and sleek where he is matted and heavy. Concern should cross his features but instead he reserves it for after he gets to know the woman a bit. When your father insists upon tormenting you in all shapes and forms, it's understandable as to why suspicion just lurks beneath the surface of his stoic features. "Nayl." He speaks low but it seems amplified by the fat snowflakes that fall around them, muffling all other sounds. "I'm Lior." His retort is direct as he meets her gaze with his own 'matter-of fact' one. "Not from around here, I'm guessing?" And by that, he is prodding for whether she is of Beqanna even at all. The black stallion has not had many interactions since his own return to Beqanna but he was open to possibly making a few acquaintances. Lobes flicker forward in the nest of tangled hair. If the mare should like to have an extended conversation, Lior would offer the warmth (well warmer than a frozen meadow) of his cave to the painted woman. She did appear rather chilly and Lior would consider it rude if he did not at least extend the offer to the other, after feeling her out a bit more, of course. RE: paint it black; any - Nayl - 11-08-2016
RE: paint it black; any - Lior - 11-13-2016 Pewter pools observe the crease of her lips as she smiles ever so slightly, like a light dusting of snow on a chilly night. Her voice is equally as cool as her smirk. She is glass. Smooth, fragile, and Lior can see the way her emotions seem to toil just underneath the surface. He does not return the smile but instead shows that she has gained his interest but simply keeping his attention trained to her painted form rather than trekking off to remain embraced by his cold and quiet solitude. The mare is strong...forged by unseen fire and sweat. She does act like most women would. Proud and unrelentingly sexualized despite their sometimes unknowing actions. Warm air coils from his lips now as he washes over her form as any male would, noting her curves and crooks. Lior was not one to seek company on any occasion truthfully. He finds himself dreadfully dull and complicated so therefore others must as well, right? Suddenly he is propelled into the presence of their conversation when the slender woman continues. She is a coastal mare, salt and sand. Lior thought he could taste the wildness of the ocean in the air around her as she seemed to wear her home around her like an intoxicating perfume (whether she wants to or not). But the inquiry as to his own residence conjures up a small, flitting tug on his lips...the smile softening his stony features ever so slightly. A toss of his heavy head is directed just up the rocky mountain side to the open mouth of a cave...his home. "There." He says with a nod. "I come from no where real. I prefer the solitude that the meadow offers me." This is, after all, the truth as the large male could easily form up a herd with all the lost mares that seemed to wander in and out of his life but he much more preferred to let them ebb and flow like flower petals on the tide. RE: paint it black; any - Nayl - 11-25-2016
RE: paint it black; any - Lior - 11-28-2016 Lids fall over the mercury tinted eyes as he watches her quietly. A scrutinizing eye catches the way her attention wisps casually away towards the direction he motions. She is fleeting like a dandelion seedling on the spring air, whimsical and lacking discretion where she may lay. Lobes remain toward the smaller woman as his expression does not shift from the wall that is built brick by brick from years of practice to keep the vulnerable parts in and the rest of the world out. Lior, above all else, is at least polite. He listens to the name of her home, a brief description in flat tones and an even flatter expression. Lior wonders what sand and ocean must be like. He has heard of beaches but had never set foot upon sand...never tasted salt upon his tongue. He isn't entirely sure if he really wants to either judging by the painted woman's description and lack of enthusiasm. The dark stallion witnesses the way warm air coils from the mare's nostrils like a sleeping dragon. He slowly draws and releases his own air without such effort. He can tell by her question that she wishes to change the subject and inquires as to if the mountain had robbed him of anything. Now it is his turn to sigh. "No, it was not the mountain who stole from me." Lior instantly wishes he had not said that. Lior cared to not speak of what was stolen from him or in which the way it was taken. "There was a time I was able to be whomever or whatever I wanted but no longer. Now I am the man who stands before you. Plain and simple." Why did he continue to speak? Lior silently sews the tears in his soul with thick and ugly black cord. He returns to the onyx statue and silently berates himself for his folly. "Perhaps...one day...I should like to see your Nerine." Like rocks crushing under foot, the rough tones of his voice vibrate from the depths of his chest as his gaze returns to Nayl in his best attempt to keep the conversation alive for the sake of sharing words with another living creature. |