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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


    And at once I knew I was not magnificent - Naga/Amazons.
    #1
    ***Sun patterns the blanket of snow—tangerine and rose; long, purple shadows edged in golden light. Everything glitters, caught in the low angled light of the newly rising sun. Everything is softened. The celestial sphere wears smooth transitional colours, from dim blue-ish to lightened pinkening horizon. Over the bubbling water fog hangs like a faint orange ghost, moving across the dawn-white field, and dispersing without ceremony. Free, not gone only changed in form and substance. Air—everywhere.
    ****She breaths, taking deep into her lungs the cold and dry everything; the remnants of mist and whispers left behind, mingling and inter-mingling. Her smile is contained, barely, by the soft and corporeal limits of her lips. She drops her right foot, and it sinks deep into the new snowfall. She lifts her left and repeats, back and front; left and right, moving in forward opposition. Her legs are chilled and crusted with a thin layer of surface ice from hoof-to-knee.

    ****She is small, a flushed and mousy mare, and it is an effort. She breaths heavy, but the the supple and youthful nature of her movement belies her middle age and exertion. Her girlish spirit is contrasted stronglythough not unpleasantly—by the sharp erudition in her soft, gold-brown eyes. She seems near-immortal, an eternal scholar and dancer. Now and then she drops her fine head to lick the untouched surface; or to examine the dead heads of foxgloves and loosestrife.
    ****She loves their indomitable drive to sleep, so that they can bloom again in time. Reddish-brown and faded but not dead. Simply waiting.

    ****She stops, her lungs screaming out a plea for oxygen, her joints shaking with spent energy. But there is delight there, living around the curves and planes. It wafts off her with the curls of warm breath in icy air, and the soft giggle under her breath. She has never refused a hard adventure—she takes great pleasure in the imprints left behind in snow or dirt, memories of moments kept only for a second. Nature does not deal in eternals. Nothing is forever.
    ****It works cyclically, unsentimental and drives towards equilibrium, always.

    *magic-borne daughter of Prague and Elladora
    ****‘...Herself in the Heavens, her beam on the waves.’
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    #2

    PRAGUE

    a touch of wicked, pinch of risqué

    The silver lioness does not frequent the field, not because she doesn't want to but because she is very picky about the ones she spends her time on. Some might say that you know an Amazon when you see them, Prague believed a little in that. She had a sixth sense (but really, she had so many more) about when her children were around; particularly those of old days. Prague has not been a great mother to any of her children but when the time provides itself she would do her best to aide if they were to ever need help.


    A small ticking sets off in the gray's head, her Andalusian body follows shortly after to a rose-gray mare; instantaneously her mind returns to Elladora, her old friend and sister. Ah, Viveine. She walks towards the girl, a gentle smile on her face with open, honesty eyes. "Don't you already know where you belong?" she laughs heartily then shakes the forelock out of her face. "The Jungle will gladly have you," she says as she turns her back to walk away, looking over her shoulder, "If anyone asks, your mother sent you." She disappears then, just as quickly as she arrived.


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    #3

    She swears, the field is where she practically spends all her spare time now, scouting about for mares to recruit for her beloved Jungle. But alas, she has not seemed to snag anyone since she brought Elsae back to the jungle. She hoped to pick up more, but her luck seemed a little low lately. What did a girl have to do to meet some damn broads around here?

    She trots briskly over the remaining snow, thank goodness it was spring. She didn’t know how much longer she could take of the cold weather with her thin Amazonian coat. She was not designed for this weather, but she deals with it, reluctantly. Her green eyes scan the slopes and flats of the field, nothing nothing nothing, oh??? Something? She smiles and realizes a dainty mare is strolling along alone. YES. She begins to trot a little faster, her confidence is beginning to blossom now. But as soon as she gets half way, she notices another mare comes out of nowhere. As she nears she can smell that she is a Amazon like her, an older mare, very light silver, pretty, though she looks like she has seen some things. But Naga knew not who this mare was. She is curious. As most felines are. She makes it to hear the mystery sister’s small speech and is surprised when she leaves it at that. She watches as she slips away.

    Hm, Mother? So that means they are related. Though, it is true what she says, the Jungle will gladly have her. Because here is Naga...not as awkward as before….ready to do her recruiting thing!

    ”Hello, so you are that mare’s daughter? That is wonderful, and it is true, the Jungle will gladly have you. I am Naga, diplomat of the Amazons. You look exhausted. Shall we find you a small stream? Are you thirsty?

    She stops herself. She is always so concerned when others seem in need. Though maternal instinct was something foreign to her. But she looks to the mare with a friendly smile, her dainty head nods happily.

    ”What is your name?

    It’s not usual for her to be so openly friendly, but this girl looks as if she needs it. Plus Naga just doesn’t want to admit to herself that she is becoming less of a hermit and coming out of her shell a little more. Our feline girl is finally starting to grow up and blossom, her mother would be disgusted…but this is no time to think of her mother. Naga keeps her mind on the rosey frosted mare before her, hopefully she would come back to the jungle, she knows for a fact this is definitely a time to get more recruits. More bodies, the better.

    naga

    the jungle panther of atrox and shadowmere

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    #4
    ***She breathes in sharply, the cold air stinging her pink nostrils. Her ears flick, and the head follows obediently, soft brown eyes compelled by a whim outside of her own thought process — like the gravity of a great body, uncontrollably sucking in smaller bits as its blazes its trail ever onward. She blinks and smiles, as calm and erudite as ever, but her heart thumps against her ribs. She wants to reach out, perhaps now more than ever. But she restrains, inhaling the scent and packing it somewhere special. She was all there was left of her origin soup. Birth mother was gone, much more tied to nature's forces than Prague — much more impermanent. The little pink mare had run her course and returned her body to the root network.
    ***The conclusion could not have been more fitting for Ella.

    ***The serenity of the exchange surprises her slightly, but then, maybe it is both of their natures. It is a momentary, rare thing. Don't you already know where you belong? And, of course, she does. She has had her dalliances, and the Gates had been good to her for the blink of an eye that she called it home. She had always felt promised. Obliged. It was never an unpleasant drive, but she had stilled it. She had made it wait, ruminate and grow or otherwise die. It lived. A live coal.

    ***“I'll see you there,” She chimes into the grey mare's wake.

    ***A self-same smells fills her nose, rushing up and ringing bells in her head. Sweet and lush. Sometimes she thought she could smell it on Ella, deep in her pores. It circles her now, heady and floral. But this is different. There is something feline in it. She turns to look, the instinctual race of her heart subsiding. “Oh!” She says, surprise and curiosity in her voice, she shakes her head lightly, rustling out her daydreams. “I am, yes. Her daughter,” She smiles, testing again the non-equine scent that permeates her. A part of her, an inborn identity. Not a second body, but a single one of unencumbered, double form. Vineine has observed her fair share of shifters, and has come to accept that nature makes mysteries every day. Each great and full of possibility.
    ***An endless well of things to note. She wasn't sure at this point if anything was an affront to nature. There is no moral or sentiment in its works.

    ***“I am, okay,” She says, nodding and turning her head to take a good look at the black mare's face, “Just short. It is nice to meet you Naga. I'm Vineine.” She shifts, the taste of endless questions lining her tongue. “Will you show me that way?” Is the only one she lets slip. There is a touch of shame in her voice, and she says it quietly. That jungle is ancestral, but she is not aligned with it like a compass. 

    *magic-borne daughter of Prague and Elladora
    ****‘...Herself in the Heavens, her beam on the waves.’
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