06-03-2017, 07:48 AM
She’s partly glad that she’s found her way to the meadow today, despite the terrible sweltering heat and the flies that bump aggressively against her sweating skin, drawn to the moisture there. Even the creek is beginning to rise in temperature from the everlasting heat day in and day out, and after a moment, the cool water does not seem as refreshing against her body as it did moments before. Merida’s black legs easily move through the muck and grime at the bottom of the creek, crunching on pebbles covered with smooth algae. Even tiny minnows nibble at her fetlocks, attracted to the sand she stirs up. The strong and muscular black mare heaves herself out of the creek, water falling in buckets down her back and shoulders, splashing downwards with a big slop. The fiery red tendrils of her mane and forelock cling helplessly to the freckled red of her ebony neck, leftover creek water still pouring in rivulets down her muscled shoulders and legs, pooling beneath her hooves in the soft, compacted sand in which she now stood.
Merida comfortably positions herself beside the blue marbled mare, which named herself as Daimhin (or Dai). The summer breeze gently brushes itself against the duo, lifting damp hairs from their skin and even though it was a warm wind, brought a refreshing coolness over them for the moment. Merida isn’t really one to go out and search for a conversation, but she has found that she is more comfortable with mares than she is with stallions. The many experiences she’s had with the male species have left her skeptical and rather unimpressed, whereas mares were easier for her to understand and communicate with (since she was one herself).
The black mare tilts a single back hoof as she shifts her hips, resting casually beside Dai. As the blue roan mare speaks, Merida aggressively swats her tail against a stinging bite from a fly on her haunch. “Tell me about it,” she murmurs with an eye roll and a huff leaving her dark lips.
“Call me Merida,” she begins, a slight lilt of a Scottish accent to her slow and fluid voice. “Ah, if only I had an actual purpose being out here today. Merely got bored back in Loess and needed a change in scenery.” Merida has closed her eyes slightly now, almost sleepily, though a single black ear was trained on her companion beside her. The soft hum of bees buzzing lazily over the green grasses behind them fill the quiet silence that grows between them, as well as the gentle lapping of the creek’s water against the shoreline, licking at Merida’s fore hooves. She thinks back to her weeping willow that she sleeps under, wondering if it would have been smarter to stay within the shade of Loess than venture out in this heat.
“What about you? Certainly something more than boredom brings you out here. Hopefully a reason far more interesting than mine.”
Merida always loved a good story.
Merida comfortably positions herself beside the blue marbled mare, which named herself as Daimhin (or Dai). The summer breeze gently brushes itself against the duo, lifting damp hairs from their skin and even though it was a warm wind, brought a refreshing coolness over them for the moment. Merida isn’t really one to go out and search for a conversation, but she has found that she is more comfortable with mares than she is with stallions. The many experiences she’s had with the male species have left her skeptical and rather unimpressed, whereas mares were easier for her to understand and communicate with (since she was one herself).
The black mare tilts a single back hoof as she shifts her hips, resting casually beside Dai. As the blue roan mare speaks, Merida aggressively swats her tail against a stinging bite from a fly on her haunch. “Tell me about it,” she murmurs with an eye roll and a huff leaving her dark lips.
“Call me Merida,” she begins, a slight lilt of a Scottish accent to her slow and fluid voice. “Ah, if only I had an actual purpose being out here today. Merely got bored back in Loess and needed a change in scenery.” Merida has closed her eyes slightly now, almost sleepily, though a single black ear was trained on her companion beside her. The soft hum of bees buzzing lazily over the green grasses behind them fill the quiet silence that grows between them, as well as the gentle lapping of the creek’s water against the shoreline, licking at Merida’s fore hooves. She thinks back to her weeping willow that she sleeps under, wondering if it would have been smarter to stay within the shade of Loess than venture out in this heat.
“What about you? Certainly something more than boredom brings you out here. Hopefully a reason far more interesting than mine.”
Merida always loved a good story.