• Logout
  • 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


    Time is a fickle thing || any and all
    #1
    If there had ever been a plan, this wasnt it. The bloody stallion never saw himself without Merrik following close behind, and when he looks into the river and sees his reflection (alone) a shudder wracks through his perfectly moulded bodice. From the moment they decided that splitting ways would be best, Tyrinn's body felt foreign to him. New. The dull throb in his chest would fade over time but today it is fresh and greedy. It kicked him in the ribs and urged the painted unicorn away from the river and unto the road once more. He walks without feeling, swings his amber eyes without seeing, listens without hearing.

    It would be a journey to find himself without his twin, for so long it had been only them. A single machine oiled to perform the same routine. It seemed as though someone's spirit had won out though, because the machine was broken, cast away into the far reaches of the Earth's mind.

    The stallion only knows the field from stories, but is awestruck none the less when he sees it. All his life it had been nothing but the occasional family member to grace him, but this? Had there always been this many horses to exist? Tyrinn shook his head, tossing his wine streaked mane from his face as he sashayed forward into his new life. Into his own life.

    As he walked he passed by those being easily chatted up by strangers , and others (a mare strangely olive in tone) fighting bitterly amongst their companions (a bloody paint like he and a mare black as pitch) what a vast variety Beqanna held. Of course horses had passed through the meadow where he and Merrik had resided, but never this many at once. So , he comes to a stop and admires them (and unbeknownst to him some ogled him as well.) 

    The stag had never been overly large, but the looks of him made up for it. From the tips of his hooves to his soot colored muzzle he was pale as snow painted in hot splotches of wine. His mane mirrored such a pattern and splitting his forelock was a shinning ivory horn. Though they weren't as expansive as his coloring his eyes were a warm auburn , the color of cooled embers. He had always been a looker.

    With a heady sigh he settled into his hips, the exhaustion allowing him to be contempt with nothing more than watching for now.  

    (OOC: This is terribly short as it is written on my phone! I hope it is readable! I had muse so I put it to use. <3 )
    Reply


    Messages In This Thread
    Time is a fickle thing || any and all - by Tyrinn - 04-02-2018, 03:39 PM



    Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)