isn't she lovely?
The instant reaction from the strange mare catches Ruthless off guard, watching as scales erupt across previously flattened surface. Images of Wolfbane and his treacherous antics that had created such havoc following ignites In her mind; is she like him?
But Ruthless had come to learn death is nothing to fear, at this point some days it feels like it would almost be a golden ticket.
So, she waits to see what the mare does next, watching as she retreats one step back and her jaw closes. The rain continues to fall around them, the soft rumble of thunder more distant than before. She almost finds peace in mother nature’s wrath; it isn’t natural wars she should be so concerned over.
It’s the minds of psychopathic magicians.
The mare speaks and Ruthless gives her attention again, assessing the genuine tone and transparency of the stranger. Her hazel eyes trace over the onyx female, understanding her more than she could find the words to express.
She too had not slept, not well at least for a very long time. Often she would wander the common lands at night like she had done with Brine ages before until her feet could no longer carry her. And then, she would bed down amongst the protection of overhung pine tree branches that fanned out like an emerald-laced curtain where she could sink into another nightmare altogether.
It isn’t until she hears the mare’s tone change that Ruth returns to the present moment, listening to the authenticity that clings to every word that leaves her mouth. She finds it refreshing, a horse that seems to protest no politics but instead is so raw Ruth can feel her energy.
“No,” she responds in a modulated harmony that is both subtle and dainty, just loud enough to be heard over the pouring rain but not boisterous enough to reach lingering ears, “lately I would rather be anything but alone. I have been alone for a long time.”
“Ruth,” she follows tautly, almost forgetting—in typical fashion—to introduce herself, “and you?”
But Ruthless had come to learn death is nothing to fear, at this point some days it feels like it would almost be a golden ticket.
So, she waits to see what the mare does next, watching as she retreats one step back and her jaw closes. The rain continues to fall around them, the soft rumble of thunder more distant than before. She almost finds peace in mother nature’s wrath; it isn’t natural wars she should be so concerned over.
It’s the minds of psychopathic magicians.
The mare speaks and Ruthless gives her attention again, assessing the genuine tone and transparency of the stranger. Her hazel eyes trace over the onyx female, understanding her more than she could find the words to express.
She too had not slept, not well at least for a very long time. Often she would wander the common lands at night like she had done with Brine ages before until her feet could no longer carry her. And then, she would bed down amongst the protection of overhung pine tree branches that fanned out like an emerald-laced curtain where she could sink into another nightmare altogether.
It isn’t until she hears the mare’s tone change that Ruth returns to the present moment, listening to the authenticity that clings to every word that leaves her mouth. She finds it refreshing, a horse that seems to protest no politics but instead is so raw Ruth can feel her energy.
“No,” she responds in a modulated harmony that is both subtle and dainty, just loud enough to be heard over the pouring rain but not boisterous enough to reach lingering ears, “lately I would rather be anything but alone. I have been alone for a long time.”
“Ruth,” she follows tautly, almost forgetting—in typical fashion—to introduce herself, “and you?”
Ruthless
father x mother or rank
@[echis]