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    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    Stay Wild Moon Child [any]
    #1
    Oh Darling, let’s be adventurers
     

    The sky was brilliant blue, filled with the most pillowy cumulous clouds she had seen in some time.  He black hooves skimmed the surface scattered a thousand water droplets from their precarious perch as they clung to each other and the dust that existed even in the air. Her legs moved as if she were walking across the clouds and the water lightly sprayed her coat as she continued to maneuver through the puffs of white. Grey head lifted up basking in the summer sun, eyes closed concealing her hazel eyes from damaging rays, but that didn’t mean the lady didn’t enjoy the warmth that kissed her skin in a million gentle caresses. As she excelled she slowly opened her eyes keeping her eyes focused on the clouds but her daydream shattered leaving her firmly planted on the ground. One day...one day I’ll fly among the clouds. Her voice was soft, barely a whisper but the longing was saturated within every syllable. Instead of the blue skies the dreamer found herself in the the rolling hills of the meadow. Her feet firmly against the green grasses, that stretched to the tree line a varying heights along the expanse.

    Waxwing was young, just 3 years old, but she had been alone for most of those time, which was probably where her rich imagination came from. She was left to entertain and fill the void that others would have filled on her own. Why the sky ended up as her main fixation she was unsure but now it was her favorite daydream and she often was lost in thoughts of flying away to some new exotic place and the grand adventures she would have, if only she could. But for now she was ready for a new adventure, a new home. Her lean muscles flexed and stretched as she took the steps forward into the heart of the meadow, carrying over the gentle slopes towards the more populated areas. There were sounds of conversation, laughter, and grazing. THere were a few huddled with stern looks and an air of tension dissipated from their cluster or fur and words. Other groups were jovial and light.The young mare steered clear of both, wanting first to take in the sights and sound and wait for an opportunity than to barge into a preexisting conversation. These lands were surely rich in nutrients, but also experiences waiting for the little grey mare. And for once, Waxwing was content, as the adventure was tangible, and the beginning was always her favorite part.
    Waxwing
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    #2

    Hawthorn

    a quote goes here

    Hawthorn is airborne.
    Up here, amidst cloud and zephyr, he is a king of sorts. He can rule a patch of sky and never encounter so much as a bird to go flapping by. Up here, he loses some of the brooding air that is forever hanging about him until he looks unapproachable but nothing approaches him here unless it is a wayward cloud that goes sailing by. Still, up here is the closest to himself that he can get - a freedom that his thick feathered legs can never afford him for all that he is a horse and meant to outrace the wind.

    It is a freedom of anonymity because the clouds do not care who his fathers are.
    The clouds do not care who he is so as long as he lets them pass by, or joins their slow errant march across the sky.

    Up here, the clouds and air ask nothing of him and he is beholden to none, not even the herd he tries to start in the redwood forest that brings him forevermore earthbound. Up here, he hardly looks down and when at last he does, he realizes that is he is far from Taiga - much farther than he anticipated being that day. Hawthorn doesn’t get out much except to fly and even that is usually curbed short by his need to look after his slowly blossoming herd. He angles closer, swooping down in a hawk’s dive until righting himself at the last possible moment to skim a wingtip amidst the sparkles of sunlight on a small river.

    He stalls out over the river but gains the bank with a surge of rippling muscle and a quick push of his haunches. Great, now he’s soaked but the summer sun will be quick to dry him off. Hawthorn grunts, as he holds his wings open and aloft to let the sun and the air do its work on the sodden mess of feathers. It’ll be a bit before he can attempt the flight home and he’d much rather fly than walk at the moment. Disgusted with himself for not paying more attention to where he chose to land, he remains grounded to the spot, water puddling beneath him.

    Then she goes by; pale and petite and there was no reason for her to catch his eye except that she did. Something about the carriage of her head and the brightness in her face made him stare after her before tucking his still-damp wings in close to his stormy dappled sides and setting off after her. She’d know she was being followed, he was a giant of a stallion and his step was booming instead of quiet until he fell in line with her and gave her a rather curt nod. Hawthorn did not mean to be chilly but he knew no other way, could not find his way back to that earlier softness that had been present in his childhood.

    “Ma’am,” he began but trailed off. It was easier to nip and claim and herd her along but something more civilized held the feral beast in him back.

    still trying to hold the world aloft



    @[Waxwing] forgive me, I'm still getting used to him. <3
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    #3
    Oh Darling, let’s be adventurers

    The grey mare thought seeing things when a large shadow crossed her path in the bright summer sun. Hazel eyes tracked the darkened spot as it moved across the ground and then as its size and shapeshifted as the object above descended. The grey mare was awestruck as her daydream manifested before her. To say she wanted to flock to his side and ask him a million questions was an understatement. But at the same time, she was instantly nervous and bashful to confront someone that she instantly was fascinated with. Like meeting a celebrity but all you are able to do is smile and cover your face, if not for the admiration, but for the fact that they are usually attractive. This gray stallion was no different, he was intriguing and attractive, it was hard for the young mare not to stare. She watched as he landed his legs, ears, and mouth faded to black and his sided specked with dapples much like her own. She continued she walk, trying to avoid staring at his wings, his muscles, the way the water dripped of his haunches. Waxwing was young and inexperienced, but it didn’t mean she didn’t have eyes or instincts. Anyway, she saw him splash himself with water from the creek and his look of self-annoyance. The way he held out his impressive wings is if their dampness was almost repugnant to him made the young grey mare stifle a laugh.

    She dared not stop, dared not speak as she passed, she would surely make a fool of herself. But oh how she wanted to, and the envy was visible as she passed him up. Her darkened legs carried her onward, and sheer power of will kept her hazel eyes from looking back. Had she done so she would have seen him looking, seen the look of interest take over his once disgruntled features. But it didn’t matter as moments later she heard his large feet fall behind her, and soon his frame was beside her. His draft infused frame hovering over her own average size as he sidled up to her, mouth half open in hesitation. ”Ma’am fell huskily from him but then nothing more. She stops walking momentarily and looks about her, there must have been someone else to whom he wished to speak to. But a quick scan brought the realization that there was only the two of them. In the immediate vicinity. Waxwing quickly got back to walking alongside him before her soft voice fell when her head reached his shoulder once more, ”s-sir? She hesitated not sure what else to say, there wasn’t much context to build from ‘ma’am,’ but she couldn’t help but try. This was the same stallion with the outstretched wings that soared through the sky moments before after all. ”Have we met before?...I’m not so sure we have, I’m Waxwing.”

    There they were, two dappled grey horses walking together, one landlocked, one free to take the skies. Waxwing eyed his wings that were now tucked against his barrel, and she imagined herself with wings. Her envy was palpable within her chest, and without realizing it her internal thoughts became external words muttered softly from her dark grey lips, So unfair… The sky gave no notice, and nor did the brilliant blue sky with its marshmallow clouds. But the embarrassment was all too real and surely was noticed by her new companion. But there was no going back, she would just have to hope he didn’t hear or didn’t get offended or something. She sighed lightly, and looked at the stallion yet to be named, and awaited his reply.
    Waxwing


    OOC: your words were lovely. these words are awk. still figuring her out too. so we can figure them out together Smile
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