05-30-2015, 03:11 PM
In the Tundra, the wind is always blowing. It is something he has long since grown used to. But as that ever present wind sends a cold gust, it blows the feather across her face. That curious, intriguing feather. His dark eyes catch upon it, wondering how it had come to be attached to her mane. He does not ask though. He will, but not now. Now, he has more important questions to ask.
It is rare for him to be so fascinated by a horse. Most of them are so predictable, so easy to read. But even though her emotions cross her face as plain as day, she surprises him. He is close enough to catch her scent now, and though the wind dances about them, she still smells of the sun. Of heat and sand. And that only intrigues him more. What is a mare, who he can only guess is from the desert, doing this far north, in the coldest regions of Beqanna? Especially if she is not here on official business?
These are the thoughts racing through his mind when she smiles. He instantly likes that smile, so happy and carefree. It does something to him, to his gut. Something he is not entirely sure he appreciates. He should not be so affected by a simple smile.
For now, he ignores it, that odd feeling. He would examine it later. Instead, he focuses on her, on her words. His eyes continue to roam over her body, examining the sun emblazoned on her hindquarters, the scars, the feather. Her words tantalize him. It is with those words that she has him hooked. He has never been able to resist a mystery.
The words draw him in. He halts at an uncomfortably close distance, looming, intense, but not threatening. Not to her, the fascinating little mare that had reeled him in all too easily. He smiles then, the words leaving his lips almost without thought.
You have me there. Stay. Tell me.
The final words are spoken next to her ear, a plea and a demand all in one.
It is rare for him to be so fascinated by a horse. Most of them are so predictable, so easy to read. But even though her emotions cross her face as plain as day, she surprises him. He is close enough to catch her scent now, and though the wind dances about them, she still smells of the sun. Of heat and sand. And that only intrigues him more. What is a mare, who he can only guess is from the desert, doing this far north, in the coldest regions of Beqanna? Especially if she is not here on official business?
These are the thoughts racing through his mind when she smiles. He instantly likes that smile, so happy and carefree. It does something to him, to his gut. Something he is not entirely sure he appreciates. He should not be so affected by a simple smile.
For now, he ignores it, that odd feeling. He would examine it later. Instead, he focuses on her, on her words. His eyes continue to roam over her body, examining the sun emblazoned on her hindquarters, the scars, the feather. Her words tantalize him. It is with those words that she has him hooked. He has never been able to resist a mystery.
The words draw him in. He halts at an uncomfortably close distance, looming, intense, but not threatening. Not to her, the fascinating little mare that had reeled him in all too easily. He smiles then, the words leaving his lips almost without thought.
You have me there. Stay. Tell me.
The final words are spoken next to her ear, a plea and a demand all in one.
There is never a day that goes by
that is a good day to die.
Hurricane