11-02-2018, 02:18 PM
She follows them as they move towards the Cove; a land she was unfamiliar with, as much of this place she still considered new. She had been in Hyaline when the change took place, if you could call it that. Beqanna was a large and vast place, and yet news spread fast — much like the disease they were all outrunning. She follows the masses, but even as she does so her dark eyes search worriedly for her gold-blazed daughter. She had been on a journey to Nerine with her father, and while she expected the wild filly to stay there awhile, it was unlike her to not return to Hyaline occasionally to see her mother, and the winged boy she often saw her with.
She pushes the worry out of her mind, shivering against the bitter winter winds, reminding herself that Leilan was a good father to their daughter, and that Breckin was fond of her too; they wouldn’t let anything happen to Chryseis.
The black mustang doesn’t fully understand what is happening, but the tension and worry is tangible. It hums in the air around them, she can see it in the creased lines of their faces as they travel, and she knows that whatever has swept across Beqanna is frightening, and something that no one here has witnessed before. They arrive in the Cove, which to her is just as lovely as any land she’s seen. She does not understand the fierce attachment that these horses have to dirt and trees, when the very same things can be found just about anywhere. It is the individuals of the herds that make every place different, and she has come to consider these horses home — not necessarily Hyaline.
She listens, quiet, keeping her thoughts to herself for the most part. Briseis will likely stay wherever the majority chooses to stay; and she is about to say as much, when the stranger arrives. She smells of salt and brine, with tentacles that writhe to reveal a peculiar beak, and Briseis blatantly stares at her, unblinking. Every time she thinks she is getting used to this place, it throws something else at her. It takes her a moment, in fact, to realize that the creature is speaking to them — subtly insulting Kagerus and Solace, and simultaneously trying to lure them into the lion’s den of Pangea. ”Excuse me, but who are you?” Her voice is quiet and unwavering, with a calmness that is nearly unnerving; she has never been one to speak in poetry, and she wasn’t about to start now.
She pushes the worry out of her mind, shivering against the bitter winter winds, reminding herself that Leilan was a good father to their daughter, and that Breckin was fond of her too; they wouldn’t let anything happen to Chryseis.
The black mustang doesn’t fully understand what is happening, but the tension and worry is tangible. It hums in the air around them, she can see it in the creased lines of their faces as they travel, and she knows that whatever has swept across Beqanna is frightening, and something that no one here has witnessed before. They arrive in the Cove, which to her is just as lovely as any land she’s seen. She does not understand the fierce attachment that these horses have to dirt and trees, when the very same things can be found just about anywhere. It is the individuals of the herds that make every place different, and she has come to consider these horses home — not necessarily Hyaline.
She listens, quiet, keeping her thoughts to herself for the most part. Briseis will likely stay wherever the majority chooses to stay; and she is about to say as much, when the stranger arrives. She smells of salt and brine, with tentacles that writhe to reveal a peculiar beak, and Briseis blatantly stares at her, unblinking. Every time she thinks she is getting used to this place, it throws something else at her. It takes her a moment, in fact, to realize that the creature is speaking to them — subtly insulting Kagerus and Solace, and simultaneously trying to lure them into the lion’s den of Pangea. ”Excuse me, but who are you?” Her voice is quiet and unwavering, with a calmness that is nearly unnerving; she has never been one to speak in poetry, and she wasn’t about to start now.
briseis.
you’re ripped at every edge but you’re a masterpiece
you’re ripped at every edge but you’re a masterpiece