05-27-2018, 09:41 PM
Lithe steps carry the desert stag from the redwoods of Taiga into the birch trees of the Sylvan woods. Poll is held high with arched crest as he parades through the autumnal leaves. His steps are silent and quick, bringing him quickly to the heart of the kingdom. It smells of blood and the air tastes thickly of the substance. While he couldn't say he enjoyed it, the stallion couldn't say it disgusted him. (His own birthland had been twisted and dark, he was.... desensitized)
"Hellloooo?~"
He croons into the darkness, sea colored eyes peering from the sooty buckskin fur of his angular face. The creamy phantom is curious as to who wandered in the circus tent like woods. Whomever they were did their wandering quietly or during the day... Yeah, that would make sense.
The man continues on then, lengthy limbs carrying him easily through the trees. The deeper he wandered the stranger it got. The trees seemed to squirm, and bushes seemed to slugishly pull themselves away, disembodied whispers floated angrily through twisted branches. The creamy stallion shudders and stands still amongst the speaking forest.
What a strange place this Beqanna was turning out to be.