11-13-2017, 04:29 PM
the night is my companion, and solitude my guide.
She wishes she could find a memory crumpled up inside her mind, dusty and forgotten, and then pull it until it unwinds and becomes clear - but unfortunately, there is no recollection of the handsome young stallion before her. Her lips curve into a slight frown; she had hoped that maybe there is a connection between the two of them, that perhaps he truly isn’t just another stranger. For some reason she wishes she could give him recognition, as if that would have pleased him greatly.
Hearing her sister’s name on unfamiliar lips causes Augusta to lift her head in surprise. Deep gray eyes watch him carefully, widening slightly as he finishes giving her a glimpse into his past. He brushes past the topic, obviously noticing the twinge of sadness that has (and seems to reoccur often) permeated through her. A half-hearted smile, sheepish and oh so small, manages to flutter onto the darkening angles of her face, lifting her chin slightly. “No,” she says (a bit more forcefully than she’s used to, almost decisively), “it’s nice to meet someone who knew her. I like to remember her.” A tilt of her head, ebony tendrils of her forelock falling into her gaze. Fragile as ever, but Augusta is not weak - she does not allow her missing family - despite its tragedy - keep her from reliving wonderful memories or speaking their names.
“I miss her,” she admits tenderly, eyes sparkling with a quiet loneliness that has become her life. “I miss home,” she doesn’t say.
The fog drifts closer to them, hanging loosely as it sifts through the winter’s air. Feeling comfortable (and forever trusting), Augusta has found herself taking enough steps forward to stand directly before him, her stormy eyes tracing the smooth curves of his muscled shoulders and haunches that glitter hauntingly in the midday, despite the sun’s hiding place behind the snow-filled clouds. “The forest,” she replies, craning her neck forward curiously towards him (so close, she could nearly feel the warmth of his breath), the subtle sparkle of his scales enamoring her. “Loess? I don’t think I’ve been there. Just Sylva and the forest. Well, and the river of course.” She laughs gently, bringing her chin to her chest so that she may control the urge to stroke his cheek with the velveteen of her muzzle. “I can live anywhere,” she states pridefully, a flick of her tail against her shimmering silver haunch. “But,” she draws a breath as she pauses, eyes narrowing thoughtfully, “perhaps it is time to go back to Sylva. I really do miss being around others.”
Of course, sweet Augusta knows nothing of the shift of the kingdoms, of Sylva’s new ruler and the hell that her childhood home has become.
“What is Loess like, Ivar?”
She likes the way his name sounds on her tongue.
Hearing her sister’s name on unfamiliar lips causes Augusta to lift her head in surprise. Deep gray eyes watch him carefully, widening slightly as he finishes giving her a glimpse into his past. He brushes past the topic, obviously noticing the twinge of sadness that has (and seems to reoccur often) permeated through her. A half-hearted smile, sheepish and oh so small, manages to flutter onto the darkening angles of her face, lifting her chin slightly. “No,” she says (a bit more forcefully than she’s used to, almost decisively), “it’s nice to meet someone who knew her. I like to remember her.” A tilt of her head, ebony tendrils of her forelock falling into her gaze. Fragile as ever, but Augusta is not weak - she does not allow her missing family - despite its tragedy - keep her from reliving wonderful memories or speaking their names.
“I miss her,” she admits tenderly, eyes sparkling with a quiet loneliness that has become her life. “I miss home,” she doesn’t say.
The fog drifts closer to them, hanging loosely as it sifts through the winter’s air. Feeling comfortable (and forever trusting), Augusta has found herself taking enough steps forward to stand directly before him, her stormy eyes tracing the smooth curves of his muscled shoulders and haunches that glitter hauntingly in the midday, despite the sun’s hiding place behind the snow-filled clouds. “The forest,” she replies, craning her neck forward curiously towards him (so close, she could nearly feel the warmth of his breath), the subtle sparkle of his scales enamoring her. “Loess? I don’t think I’ve been there. Just Sylva and the forest. Well, and the river of course.” She laughs gently, bringing her chin to her chest so that she may control the urge to stroke his cheek with the velveteen of her muzzle. “I can live anywhere,” she states pridefully, a flick of her tail against her shimmering silver haunch. “But,” she draws a breath as she pauses, eyes narrowing thoughtfully, “perhaps it is time to go back to Sylva. I really do miss being around others.”
Of course, sweet Augusta knows nothing of the shift of the kingdoms, of Sylva’s new ruler and the hell that her childhood home has become.
“What is Loess like, Ivar?”
She likes the way his name sounds on her tongue.
@[Ivar]