12-24-2017, 12:15 PM
camlin
It's always the same, I'm running towards nothing again
Camlin is not a creature of ill will. The painted stallion simply moves between the rays of moonlight as the autumn's spice clears his head of nonsense and allows him to simply be of his simple nature. Here, among tall trees, lay a quiet solitude that could be sought if one should decide to seek it.
The pale woman draped in the moon silk was watching him with dark eyes that gleam with curiosity. She does not smell of Beqanna and it's spilled blood. She is a representation of something perhaps a bit greater outside the confines that Camlin had not bore any witness too. A great beyond that filled his head with coltish possibilities that he must slowly strip away with each passing year.
The woman's movements are deliberate and her voice is a sing-song of cords as she speaks to the pied man. Ears move forward when he finds a place not far off from where she stood, his head inclined thoughtfully as he listened to the way she spoke. Her words are proper and clipped, a tone of casual song weaving between the vowels and it coaxed a curl to the tall man's lips as he listened.
"I'm Camlin." His reply is low and thick as the bed of dead foliage beneath their feet. "This is Beqanna...the forest to be more exact." He rests a smooth smile on his dark lips with no malicious intentions creeping just beyond the edges of his rested demeanor. "Are you from here?" He inquires as she seems foreign given her scent and the way she speaks so he rests into his hip, a leg lifted slightly, listening to the pale mare.
The pale woman draped in the moon silk was watching him with dark eyes that gleam with curiosity. She does not smell of Beqanna and it's spilled blood. She is a representation of something perhaps a bit greater outside the confines that Camlin had not bore any witness too. A great beyond that filled his head with coltish possibilities that he must slowly strip away with each passing year.
The woman's movements are deliberate and her voice is a sing-song of cords as she speaks to the pied man. Ears move forward when he finds a place not far off from where she stood, his head inclined thoughtfully as he listened to the way she spoke. Her words are proper and clipped, a tone of casual song weaving between the vowels and it coaxed a curl to the tall man's lips as he listened.
"I'm Camlin." His reply is low and thick as the bed of dead foliage beneath their feet. "This is Beqanna...the forest to be more exact." He rests a smooth smile on his dark lips with no malicious intentions creeping just beyond the edges of his rested demeanor. "Are you from here?" He inquires as she seems foreign given her scent and the way she speaks so he rests into his hip, a leg lifted slightly, listening to the pale mare.