Juice
11-12-2018, 07:44 AM
The ruddy brown colt had heard the whispers about a sickness infecting Beqanna. Although Sylva had been relatively quiet, the very forest spoke of the numerous victims outside of the kingdom's borders. Since he did not know any one and, the army of trees had protected him thus far, Juice decided to stay here.
The lanky male slips through the shadows as quietly as possible. The fallen foliage bears a blanket of white, which is not as soft as snow can be, but it does muffle the crunching of pine needles and leaves. Ivory hooves navigate the tree roots and carry adolescent towards the center of the woods. He bore no specific destination. In fact, he would be content without running into any one.
Disproportionately long ears for his narrow snout and underdeveloped musculature rapidly rotate in search of sounds of another being approaching him. Dark, glossy pools peer out beneath tangled mat of horsehair on his forehead as they scan the shadows for movement. Salmon-lined nostrils flare in an effort to draw in more scents and, filter through them, carefully. His stride is deliberate but easy; a stroll through the maze of trees. He carries his poll above his withers as he remains alert. With every fiber of his being at the ready, his tail lifts away from his haunches and streams like a banner in the chilly, winter gusts. While nothing sparks a red-flag from his senses, Juice knew that he is never actually alone in the Sylvan forest.
The lanky male slips through the shadows as quietly as possible. The fallen foliage bears a blanket of white, which is not as soft as snow can be, but it does muffle the crunching of pine needles and leaves. Ivory hooves navigate the tree roots and carry adolescent towards the center of the woods. He bore no specific destination. In fact, he would be content without running into any one.
Disproportionately long ears for his narrow snout and underdeveloped musculature rapidly rotate in search of sounds of another being approaching him. Dark, glossy pools peer out beneath tangled mat of horsehair on his forehead as they scan the shadows for movement. Salmon-lined nostrils flare in an effort to draw in more scents and, filter through them, carefully. His stride is deliberate but easy; a stroll through the maze of trees. He carries his poll above his withers as he remains alert. With every fiber of his being at the ready, his tail lifts away from his haunches and streams like a banner in the chilly, winter gusts. While nothing sparks a red-flag from his senses, Juice knew that he is never actually alone in the Sylvan forest.
@[Delta]