09-18-2016, 04:18 PM
She should stop looking for him.
He is nowhere to be found, and each night that passes is another notch in her surety that he is gone. Djinni stands alone at the top of a hill, her black and white mane a tangle against her grey neck as she looks down at the meadow around her,. It is fill of horses - full of strangers.
The grullo mare turns to go.
But go where ,she realizes. She has no place to return to, She never has, of course, but adrift as she is in this new Beqanna, she suddenly wants to. She wants something, someone, anything, to cling to. She is tired of drifting.
The first thing her eyes settle on after the realization is a roan mare. She sports the type of horn that is rarely seen in Beqanna anymore, but it reminds Djinni of her childhood.
"My father had a horn like that one," she says, taking a few steps forward and doing her best to meet the mare's fallen eyes. She starting to say something else, probably something equally friendly and meaningless, when she seems to suddenly realize that such an attitude might not be the best.
"Are you...are you okay?" asks the small mare, lowering her head to look up into the blue roan's face. She looks as though the very life has left her body, but given the way that her barrel is swollen, that must be doubly untrue. The concern in her voice is genuine, and it shows in the soft lines of her pretty face, now furrowed in worry.
He is nowhere to be found, and each night that passes is another notch in her surety that he is gone. Djinni stands alone at the top of a hill, her black and white mane a tangle against her grey neck as she looks down at the meadow around her,. It is fill of horses - full of strangers.
The grullo mare turns to go.
But go where ,she realizes. She has no place to return to, She never has, of course, but adrift as she is in this new Beqanna, she suddenly wants to. She wants something, someone, anything, to cling to. She is tired of drifting.
The first thing her eyes settle on after the realization is a roan mare. She sports the type of horn that is rarely seen in Beqanna anymore, but it reminds Djinni of her childhood.
"My father had a horn like that one," she says, taking a few steps forward and doing her best to meet the mare's fallen eyes. She starting to say something else, probably something equally friendly and meaningless, when she seems to suddenly realize that such an attitude might not be the best.
"Are you...are you okay?" asks the small mare, lowering her head to look up into the blue roan's face. She looks as though the very life has left her body, but given the way that her barrel is swollen, that must be doubly untrue. The concern in her voice is genuine, and it shows in the soft lines of her pretty face, now furrowed in worry.
D J I N N I
genie | rose gold tobiano dun | trickster