B R O N S O N N
Despite the darkness of his pied skin, he enjoys the summer sun pressing against his back. The thick dragonborn son of Nayl and Lior emerges near the river as a plain equine, there is no need to boast here, nor did he want the attention whether it be fear or awe. The youngest son finds himself more reserved than his elder siblings. Castile, the king of Loess, Isobell, the legendary kelpie queen, they could keep their titles if it only meant the blue-grey and white male could have his peace.
The golden light shimmers against the metallic of his gunmetal patches as though it even may be envious of the creature he was. The trees around the river seem to sway sleepily as their leaves were beginning to lose their luster of green, their edges began to fade in anticipation of an early autumn. Feathered feet pull him into the waters so he stand ankle deep in the chilly waters. The young stallion regards it all with a dark eye before he dips his head to drink from the free flowing waters.
Lids fall against his reflection, an image of thick mane that lay in gnarls and lightly bristled lips of a whiskered man he would become, part and drink. There is a solemness about him...perhaps even a shyness. The sun catches the dribble of water that remains on his chin as he lifts his head to observe another not far down the shore. Others roamed here, it was no secret, but the dark male was not well versed in conversation so his heart flitted in an uneven rhythm but he stands his ground and waits to see if they approach with dark eyes that convey curiousity beneath the fall of his iron blue forelock.
The golden light shimmers against the metallic of his gunmetal patches as though it even may be envious of the creature he was. The trees around the river seem to sway sleepily as their leaves were beginning to lose their luster of green, their edges began to fade in anticipation of an early autumn. Feathered feet pull him into the waters so he stand ankle deep in the chilly waters. The young stallion regards it all with a dark eye before he dips his head to drink from the free flowing waters.
Lids fall against his reflection, an image of thick mane that lay in gnarls and lightly bristled lips of a whiskered man he would become, part and drink. There is a solemness about him...perhaps even a shyness. The sun catches the dribble of water that remains on his chin as he lifts his head to observe another not far down the shore. Others roamed here, it was no secret, but the dark male was not well versed in conversation so his heart flitted in an uneven rhythm but he stands his ground and waits to see if they approach with dark eyes that convey curiousity beneath the fall of his iron blue forelock.
i'll keep you close