10-28-2017, 12:04 AM
Home.
It is a foreign concept to her for all that she has one. Hyaline is home enough to her now. Before that, the Meadow and the Forest had sufficed. She could not say though that she had ever set foot outside the vast breadth of these lands, or this world really. It never occurred to her to venture beyond the horizon and discover what else was out there. Strange too, because the wanderlust was there in her blood. It was just a call that she did not answer to but place a herd of deer in front of her and Keeper was off like a shooting star trying to run them down and learn their ways, which is something she could never do - you just can’t be a deer when you’re a lumbering hulk of a horse.
She’s not as large as that description implies. In fact, she is on the smaller side as some mares are. Most of the time she is lean, sparse in fat and thinned out from all the traveling that she does between Hyaline and the commoner lands. On rare occasions she is plump which suits her near-pony size. A better generalization is that she looks like any feral horse does - unkempt and sullied. Smears of mud cling to her legs. Abrasions of dirt are rife along her neck and flanks. Scratches from thorny thickets cross her skin. Knots in her hair compete with the sticks and bones that have become entangled therein. Keeper is a sight to see!
This is perhaps not the best time to be frolicking in the stream that cuts through a corner of the Meadow though. It is certainly not her best idea and doesn’t clean her up much like a dip in either of the two rivers she must cross to make it back to Hyaline can. If anything, her hair becomes matted to her neck and her thighs and more mud joins that which is already caked onto her legs as she leaves the stream shivering. No, autumn was perhaps not the best season to splash about in water that was already beginning to feel the oncoming chill of winter. Granted, the cold water had tasted good going down her throat and she had enjoyed pawing at her reflection because she is a horse after all and that’s what horses do.
It is quite possible that the plop of a pebble further upstream is what caused Keeper to turn in the chestnut mare’s direction. An ear flicks at the sigh, the sound so forlorn! She does not understand why so many come here that lack so much hope. More and more of them seem to be soured by enough sorrow to last them a lifetime and then some. Of course, she only guesses at the nature of that sigh - it could just be because the pebble was knocked loose and sank to the bottom of the stream quickly and had nothing to do with hope or a lack thereof at all.
Keeper’s reflection appears right next to the chestnut’s and she notices the star on the mare’s red brow. It wavered just a little in the water, remnants from the pebble’s fall that still spun outward and away from them, growing ever wider into each other until gone. She lifted her gaze from the reflection to the mare herself, smiling just a little but never once asking for permission to join her - that was assumed just from the way that Keeper positioned herself next to the red mare, close enough that their shoulders could touch if they wanted them to. “That pebble might get lonely down there…” she says with a laugh before scuffing another one into the stream with her own hoof.
ooc: i'm too lazy for html but i lubs joo! <3