Long now has the hope left her to find traces of familiarity. The spotted mare moves through the grasses, the mountains (never the deserts). It is always the same story, same voices. Neva knows that perhaps now..perhaps after the past year of searching, it is best to let it all go. Let the sand slip through her fingers and close her eyes and allow the acceptance to wash over her.
The frosted woman stands still as stone, only the cold, cold air of her lungs give away her existence. Winter, with icy fingers and sadistic humor, embraces Beqanna. The ice woman returns the affection with a smile. She had sought to move to the field to reach out for a home, to seek companionship of sorts. But there he stands, dark and broody against the grey palettes of a sleepy winter scene. Neva cannot help but laugh gentle as long limbs are moving her near him with the slow and methodical -thud-thud- of her weight on frozen ground. 'Hello there." The mare offers with a smirk, her pale mane lifting and lapping against her speckled him as her dark head tilts slightly. He seems frozen, stiff and wary but Neva does not attempt to force entry behind the wall of defense he seems to build with the way he stands. Instead the woman turns to look over the grounds, her shoulders shrugging slightly. 'I'm hoping to find a home too." She looks over her shoulder at the mahogany stallion, assuming why he was there.
'I'm Neva."
swayed by cold rejections