09-09-2017, 10:16 PM
She need something to bind her. She needs something to plant a seed and nurture the roots that lady dormant in her soul. Beqanna was only a dream in the darkness of her eye after years seem to pass. She remains eternal, changing, shifting, hiding from what could be seen beneath the porcelain mask of her face with deep blue eyes and dark quivering lips.
He was always in the meadow when she had least expected him. Would he be when she sought him? The pale mare admires the way the fat snowflakes drift and fall around dampening the pale steel of her mane. The mare picks her way delicately though ice and snow, eyes looking for the familiar face. She wonders if he would feel her in the meadow beneath the thick ash of a gray winter sky.
Eventually she finds a place in the open to dig at the frozen ground and attempt to paw away some of the slush. It helped to pass the time but she could not prevent herself from lifting the heaviness of her head to wonder if the emerald form would breath through the lining of trees that surround the meadow. Maybe he would come...
...maybe he wouldn't.
Epithet
@[Wyrm]
<3