I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife
Loess has been good to her. A place to call home, a stallion to call her own, women with which to fraternize and strangers to invite to stay. Diplomacy, belonging, it suits the woman more than any may ever have guessed from her former ways - feral eyes and reckless heart, a mountain-dwelling wraith of all things wild and unwary. Still, however, these characteristics stick to her skin, showing themselves in the way her unkempt coat is dull, in the way her wavy locks fall past her shoulders, and in the way her black eyes gleam with an unnatural abandon.
He was like his mother, and she was like hers. Both of them; with Kotaro's husky voice and fierce loyalty to her land, and with Peccatrice Dea's fire and glower. Altogether however she is her own entity, an existence untethered to the Queens of the far, far distant past. In this land, she is nothing, really. Nothing except her own name:
Trissy.
He is pacing the border, muscles flexing and causing his black coat to gleam in the sunlight. She stands not far off, admiring the way his jaw works to crush his own teeth, and the way his breath trumpets across the distance between them to send chills down her spine. When at last she does move towards him, a knowing smile is curled across her lips, hips swaying gently behind her.
"Took your sweet time, Torture." She states bluntly, coming to rest in front of him, drawn to her full fourteen hands proudly. The wind billows her mane and tail, as it does his; they stand, two black shadows on the opposite side of an invisible line, staring at one another in silence. The stallion, massive; the mare, refined. At a distance, there is no denying their pleasing aesthetic.
Her smile widens. It must kill him that she does not touch him first. Her land, her rules. "Welcome."
He was like his mother, and she was like hers. Both of them; with Kotaro's husky voice and fierce loyalty to her land, and with Peccatrice Dea's fire and glower. Altogether however she is her own entity, an existence untethered to the Queens of the far, far distant past. In this land, she is nothing, really. Nothing except her own name:
Trissy.
He is pacing the border, muscles flexing and causing his black coat to gleam in the sunlight. She stands not far off, admiring the way his jaw works to crush his own teeth, and the way his breath trumpets across the distance between them to send chills down her spine. When at last she does move towards him, a knowing smile is curled across her lips, hips swaying gently behind her.
"Took your sweet time, Torture." She states bluntly, coming to rest in front of him, drawn to her full fourteen hands proudly. The wind billows her mane and tail, as it does his; they stand, two black shadows on the opposite side of an invisible line, staring at one another in silence. The stallion, massive; the mare, refined. At a distance, there is no denying their pleasing aesthetic.
Her smile widens. It must kill him that she does not touch him first. Her land, her rules. "Welcome."
Trissy
@[Ivar]
Maybe Ivar wants to come play, as motive for the plan we got goin? No pressure Kahzie! Just drama fun >
Maybe he wants to drop by when the thread is more developed, to catch them in an awkward place? Heh.