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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    deep roots are not reached by the frost - any
    #9

    She can feel their eyes on her and despite being just fillies, they cause an uneasy feeling in the pit of Merida’s stomach. It churns wildly, the excitement mixing with absolute dread. She is not afraid of the two (at least not yet), no. But the strange way they surround her like sharks to blood brings concern to her piercingly golden eyes – she can only imagine who these two belong to and Merida was not keen on meeting them. As for the moment, they had been a means to an end, and Merida meant the same to them. She would stick to her word, almost to a fault, as she always would and hoped that she would be on her way, never to interact with the two beastly children ever again.

    Something pricks with alarm inside Merida, part of her wondering if she would ever be able to be released from their unsettling clutches. She pushes down the thought with a hard swallow, nodding understandably as the girls eagerly describe their wishes. Merida’s jaw clenches restlessly as they request a foal, snorting sharply in response. Other than that, no words were uttered in reply to their sadistic demand.

    Merida inhales deeply, her eyes scanning the meadow intently as she searches for signs of life besides their own. Her black ears flick carefully; listening attentively for the sound of small hooves on soft grass and ignoring the calls of birds, wind against the trees, or adult horses’ murmurs on the wind. All the while, the ebony mare keeps the twins in sight from the corner of her eyes, not feeling comfortable enough to let them out of her sight (and rightly so).

    “Stay here,” she says suddenly and rather quietly, brushing past the twins (careful not to actually touch them) with easy strides, brilliant yet sad eyes focused on an area beyond them. As to not offend them, she calmly adds: “Fearsome creatures find it more difficult to lure innocent prey.” Merida passes them a few steps and warily looks over her shoulder at the two, almost as if she was waiting for them to change their mind. 

    “Follow if you must, but stay hidden. Any hint of uncertainty from our target will make this task all the more challenging.”

    She pauses, watching them. Merida hates that she feels like she’s giving them advice to track their own prey in the future, wondering if she will feel guilty for sharing information like this with them. They are young and impressionable, soaking everything up from the world around them. She says nothing else, for soon they will see how easy it is to lure and ‘capture’ someone without using force unless needed.

    The black mare begins her route, head low to the grasses as she inhales the scent of the ground below her. The smell was thick with growing foliage and damp earth, but there were small traces of equine riddled through it. As she moved, she would sometimes turn right or turn left, stopping suddenly to inspect a print a little closer before continuing. The scent was becoming stronger. A foal’s scent was fresh and new, brimming with excitement and wonder – extremely distinct among the other smells of the meadow and especially different from the two fillies that were hopefully keeping their distance behind her (they smelt of poison and dripped with venom – how charming).

    Merida suddenly halts, lifting her head for the first time since the beginning of her tracking. Her ears prick forward curiously, watching for movement. She was close – closer than she thought, actually, when her golden eyes catch the sight of a foal in the distance. She glances over her shoulder, hoping the twins were well hidden and would remain so for the time being until she returned with their gift to the small, frozen pond. She snorts sharply, wordlessly reminding them to stay put.

    She begins to walk towards where the young equine was, her face alight with ease and comfort – she had to be extremely convincing to the foreign child if she hoped to keep herself from out of the grasp of the twins’ and their family.
    from the ashes a fire shall be awoken
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    RE: deep roots are not reached by the frost - any - by Merida - 03-23-2017, 06:00 AM



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