To be sincere, it would be a lie to say she recognized him. Where she is sleek, he is angled. Where she is rough, he is smooth. Her skin is of the palest yellow while is his is of a ruddy brown, touched by the slight flaxen mane. She resembled not much of her mother other than the hhybrid bit in her blood. Her features were delicate like October's, a tangle of inky black tresses obscuring the dark amber of her eyes. An unusual feature of tiny dots of colors accent her limbs despite the primitive marks from a quest of time passed.
Oak is grown now, filled out finely and chiseled from the fairest stone. She is fluid and blessed with the grace of the mother that she never really knew. October had been a ghost for much of her life, she was gentle and kind and looked after her young till the time came for her to leave. Oak had only saw her mother once since she struck her yearling-hood some years ago.
But-
But now that was not the thought to pass through her mind's eye. Dark pools see a creature up ahead. He is muddy red and stout. The male's form suggests a mutt-like heritage but there is a keenness in his eyes. Oak is suspicious of this man, electing to remain in her place rather than approach. She watches, quiet and brooding as she studies him. The inky black of her brow grossing over her eyes when a small chilled breeze tangles it's fingers playfully. The winter brings forth the thickness of her coat, darkening it ever so slightly with the coarseness of her hair but she does not budge but instead calls to the male. Thick hind tresses flicker up and over her haunches to tangle against the winter chill before a few paces are taken in his direction to show that she feigned some sort of interest as she was the caller after all.
"Hello there." Low. Feminine. Solid.
The dark eyes meet the stranger's to accompany the short greeting. It is unusual for the mare to even make such an outreach, typically she would pass by another unnoticed and invisible but not this time.
This time something was different.
Oak is grown now, filled out finely and chiseled from the fairest stone. She is fluid and blessed with the grace of the mother that she never really knew. October had been a ghost for much of her life, she was gentle and kind and looked after her young till the time came for her to leave. Oak had only saw her mother once since she struck her yearling-hood some years ago.
But-
But now that was not the thought to pass through her mind's eye. Dark pools see a creature up ahead. He is muddy red and stout. The male's form suggests a mutt-like heritage but there is a keenness in his eyes. Oak is suspicious of this man, electing to remain in her place rather than approach. She watches, quiet and brooding as she studies him. The inky black of her brow grossing over her eyes when a small chilled breeze tangles it's fingers playfully. The winter brings forth the thickness of her coat, darkening it ever so slightly with the coarseness of her hair but she does not budge but instead calls to the male. Thick hind tresses flicker up and over her haunches to tangle against the winter chill before a few paces are taken in his direction to show that she feigned some sort of interest as she was the caller after all.
"Hello there." Low. Feminine. Solid.
The dark eyes meet the stranger's to accompany the short greeting. It is unusual for the mare to even make such an outreach, typically she would pass by another unnoticed and invisible but not this time.
This time something was different.
Oakheart
Manhattan x October