11-11-2017, 06:13 PM
“Oh hello there.”
The mare with green-grass eyes stands amidst the fresh-birthed forest as if she had grown there, her cream legs like solid saplings, her mane and tail all stuck with thorns and tangles and brambles.
“It’s nice to meet you finally, Kolera.” her voice is as warm as the yellowy sunlight which dapples the ashy earth and catches on the clouds of fog around them. Of course, the silver mare has never met the girl before, has no idea of any past errors, crimes or mistakes… But the past is boring to look back on, like a series of likenesses through glass. The future is glowing, and bright, and often very bloody and violent, but always light. Maybe it’s just because nothing has settled into the dust-and-dirt of reality yet, it’s all still shifting and far from solid. Anastazja had seen her, though, as clearly as she sees her now.
Anastazja looks down at the small shoots of green Kolera has encouraged to grow again, springing forth through layers of burning, flooding and other (always other, with the fairies, they seem to get creative with their punishments).
“It’ll all come back, eventually. It always does.” She stands solidly, a testament to that very fact, a pillar of silver-cream and green speckled with dirt and ash and dried blood, as if risen from the forest floor itself. Of course, she is no spectre or apparition, and had made her way here on her own four legs. She had followed the scent of rabbits and birds who no doubt thought that these fresh growings were a feast put out just for them, a banquet especially for the small stem-eaters and nut-thieves. But of course where the prey goes, the predator follows, and soon puts them to rights.
“I’m Anastazja. Why are you trying to regrow the Taiga?” There’s no attack in her voice, only a childlike inquisitivity, a keen desire to discover.
ooc; sorry this is bad and html-less :| :| :|
The mare with green-grass eyes stands amidst the fresh-birthed forest as if she had grown there, her cream legs like solid saplings, her mane and tail all stuck with thorns and tangles and brambles.
“It’s nice to meet you finally, Kolera.” her voice is as warm as the yellowy sunlight which dapples the ashy earth and catches on the clouds of fog around them. Of course, the silver mare has never met the girl before, has no idea of any past errors, crimes or mistakes… But the past is boring to look back on, like a series of likenesses through glass. The future is glowing, and bright, and often very bloody and violent, but always light. Maybe it’s just because nothing has settled into the dust-and-dirt of reality yet, it’s all still shifting and far from solid. Anastazja had seen her, though, as clearly as she sees her now.
Anastazja looks down at the small shoots of green Kolera has encouraged to grow again, springing forth through layers of burning, flooding and other (always other, with the fairies, they seem to get creative with their punishments).
“It’ll all come back, eventually. It always does.” She stands solidly, a testament to that very fact, a pillar of silver-cream and green speckled with dirt and ash and dried blood, as if risen from the forest floor itself. Of course, she is no spectre or apparition, and had made her way here on her own four legs. She had followed the scent of rabbits and birds who no doubt thought that these fresh growings were a feast put out just for them, a banquet especially for the small stem-eaters and nut-thieves. But of course where the prey goes, the predator follows, and soon puts them to rights.
“I’m Anastazja. Why are you trying to regrow the Taiga?” There’s no attack in her voice, only a childlike inquisitivity, a keen desire to discover.
ooc; sorry this is bad and html-less :| :| :|