06-01-2015, 12:07 PM
Women were fickle creatures, weren’t they? She couldn’t deny that she had the ability to be fickle herself, though she wouldn’t describe herself as such. And not because she didn’t realize her flaws (she had them, after all), but because she had always been loyal to the Chamber. This one fact had not changed her entire life, which was not all that long yet not all that short either. Every action she took was for the benefit of the Chamber.
So perhaps some of her loyalties to certain horses appeared to be fickle. And on the surface, certainly they were. But it all came down to the same thing. Had they betrayed the Chamber? Had they stopped serving their kingdom to the best of their ability? If the answer to either of those questions was yes, then she had little need for those horses anymore. Or more to the point, little respect left for them. She has done nothing but serve her kingdom, will continue to do nothing but serve her kingdom.
That motive is of course what brings her to the field. She is here somewhat frequently, though finds that this place is still often lacking. The meadow and the Valley have often proven more fruitful than the field, but in the end, most of them leave. Apparently everyone else lacks determination and drive. Ah well. She’ll persist anyway, because she must, if the Chamber is to thrive.
One of these sorry saps has to pan out to be more than a sorry sap, right? The law of odds would suggest so.
She notices a stallion still standing by himself, which is unusual. It doesn’t take long for new faces to be surrounded by recruiters typically, like starved lions around a kill. But that’s what they were, were they not? She makes her way over, her bay and white coat grown long over the winter and not yet shedding. The last of winter still hung in the air, and while the Chamber was slightly warmer than the field, not by much.
Despite the long hair of her coat, she is still elegant and beautiful in her way. Wild and uncaring, her mane tossed on either side of her neck, her coat still streaked with a few patches of ash from the trees of the Chamber. She has never bothered much with appearance, but in truth, it is her careless that makes her beautiful.
“Hello,” she says, drawing to a stop in front of the stallion. She nods her head, though just slightly. Not a bow, but a reasonable enough greeting. “I’m Straia, from the Chamber. And you might be?”
So perhaps some of her loyalties to certain horses appeared to be fickle. And on the surface, certainly they were. But it all came down to the same thing. Had they betrayed the Chamber? Had they stopped serving their kingdom to the best of their ability? If the answer to either of those questions was yes, then she had little need for those horses anymore. Or more to the point, little respect left for them. She has done nothing but serve her kingdom, will continue to do nothing but serve her kingdom.
That motive is of course what brings her to the field. She is here somewhat frequently, though finds that this place is still often lacking. The meadow and the Valley have often proven more fruitful than the field, but in the end, most of them leave. Apparently everyone else lacks determination and drive. Ah well. She’ll persist anyway, because she must, if the Chamber is to thrive.
One of these sorry saps has to pan out to be more than a sorry sap, right? The law of odds would suggest so.
She notices a stallion still standing by himself, which is unusual. It doesn’t take long for new faces to be surrounded by recruiters typically, like starved lions around a kill. But that’s what they were, were they not? She makes her way over, her bay and white coat grown long over the winter and not yet shedding. The last of winter still hung in the air, and while the Chamber was slightly warmer than the field, not by much.
Despite the long hair of her coat, she is still elegant and beautiful in her way. Wild and uncaring, her mane tossed on either side of her neck, her coat still streaked with a few patches of ash from the trees of the Chamber. She has never bothered much with appearance, but in truth, it is her careless that makes her beautiful.
“Hello,” she says, drawing to a stop in front of the stallion. She nods her head, though just slightly. Not a bow, but a reasonable enough greeting. “I’m Straia, from the Chamber. And you might be?”
straia
queen of the chamber