She comes from lush emerald brush and emerges with a thick scent of musk. Her neck is accessorized with a thick python, painted in pale yellow and white strokes, his head resting gracefully on her thick smooth wither.
The heat of the afternoon christens her back, not quite as hot as her usual climate but warm for the deteriorating fall season. The air is littered with scents of men and women whisking together to make a rather distasteful batter. The season of children-making disgusts our python shifter, she despises the entire principle.
Oh, well. More children for meal purposes, yes?
The field is a place she hardly enjoys—fake smiles, pretty ponies, polite speeches—it all molds together in her ears as bullshit. Smother has never been skilled at pretending, not unless she truly needed something and then—only then—would she deal the cards. And once the hand had been played and the cards of manipulation dealt, then all bets were off. Smother could only play nice with rats for so long.
Had the female not been approached by a male prior, Smother would have payed no mind. Contrary to her signing her allegiance to the jungle, she truly isn’t a fan of voluntarily speaking with women. Her talent lied with men, whom in comparison were like dealing with rabbits instead of lions. Give a woman a piece of meat and they question the quality of their meal. Give a rabbit a carrot covered in rat poison and watch the men graciously devour their treat.
She is a bay, much like Smother despite her vibrant white splashes. He, the greeter and most likely recruiter, is a black and blue trophy. The smell of foreign equine wakes Turkish from his slumber, newcomers always did.
Fresh meat?
Hungry already, Turkish?
Not for recruits. But perhaps we can stop and get some food on the way.
Rabbit it is.
Their telepathic way of communication has most likely saved them from millions of uncomfortable or detrimental situations. He had a way of scaring strangers, his powerful twelve foot body numerously wrapped around her like a fashionable scarf. His reptile like scent littering their nostrils, and sending prey-like alarms vibrating through their sensors.
“Well aren’t you lucky that I came to your rescue, and now it is impossible for him to claim you without going through me,” her voice is evidently strong, with an air like effortlessness that was closer compared to a harp than a flute. “We don’t claim here, we are more of a modern set world. You get to pick your poison.”
She eyes up the female, watching her briefly how easily the mare had given. It worries Smother, the worlds outside of Beqanna that treat their females with such disregard. This one, she has so much to learn, but yet the strength in how she pulled herself together is why Smother still stands here intrigued.
“I am a mare of the jungle. The Jungle is a place of strength, loyalty, and sisterhood. We are all females there, we have long since abandoned the idea of being ‘claimed’ or ‘taken’,” her eyes meet the mares momentarily before finishing, “if you long for a kingdom that allows you to set your destiny, and one that provides the loyalty to get you to where you want to be, then the Amazon sisters would be a fitting choice.
However, should you long for another form of poison, by all means I am not one to force you on anything.” She shifts her stance, a flash of her Amazon-awarded tattoo placed prominently on her chest shows briefly.
The swords are placed strongly starting from the top of her leg building to the side of her neck. Two elegant pythons are looped and winded intricately around the blades. It resembles so much of her, yet shows traits Smother has yet to discover.