12-14-2018, 09:32 AM
She knows he's there, standing with exposed teeth in the brilliance of the island's sun looking menacingly beautiful. But his presence doesn't slow her down as she emerges from the treeline, doesn't cause her steps to falter or a drop of doubt to taint her mindset. Instead, his presence in the path she treads merely earns him the flick of a sideways glance, her bright yellow eyes a stark contrast to the black that shades the rest of her body. Pockmarked with lines of pink and grey scars and a mind frame shaped by the wear and brutalities of time, she is the product of an unforgiving past. If looking closely, it's possible to see the beauty that might have known her many years ago, but now her body is just the worn husk of the creature she once was.
If he doesn't take a step to the side, the brush of her sweat dampened side along his scales will be unavoidable. It's not an attempt of intentional offense towards the guy, he's just standing in her way and she is unwilling to deviate from the course she had already set. Purposeful strides carry her far enough into the shallows for the waves to rise against the underside of her barrel. Syn stops far enough in to dip her muzzle into the briney waters, snorting an expulsion of air into the waves to cleanse herself of the dried blood that had accumulated there from her latest bouts. The escape of bubbles cascading over her face soothe her senses and when contented inclines her head back upward.
A shake of her head causes her tangled mane to fall over a single eye and turning back towards the shore that same eye narrows when the handsome stallion specimen is still there looking at her. He doesn't seem too inclined to leave, and now that she's staring right back at him she might as well say something. "What," she says eloquently, more of a statement than a question. Her voice is thick with disuse, sounding grating against her own ears. Today she hates the disruption of herself more than usual.
@[Ivar]
If he doesn't take a step to the side, the brush of her sweat dampened side along his scales will be unavoidable. It's not an attempt of intentional offense towards the guy, he's just standing in her way and she is unwilling to deviate from the course she had already set. Purposeful strides carry her far enough into the shallows for the waves to rise against the underside of her barrel. Syn stops far enough in to dip her muzzle into the briney waters, snorting an expulsion of air into the waves to cleanse herself of the dried blood that had accumulated there from her latest bouts. The escape of bubbles cascading over her face soothe her senses and when contented inclines her head back upward.
A shake of her head causes her tangled mane to fall over a single eye and turning back towards the shore that same eye narrows when the handsome stallion specimen is still there looking at her. He doesn't seem too inclined to leave, and now that she's staring right back at him she might as well say something. "What," she says eloquently, more of a statement than a question. Her voice is thick with disuse, sounding grating against her own ears. Today she hates the disruption of herself more than usual.
@[Ivar]