05-20-2017, 05:32 PM
The sun seemed sharper here, glinting over her emerald and white hide hungrily. Minerva is not quite sure what to make of home yet as she was unaccustomed to thought as of yet. Dear old Pa had left her to rot in a meadow but the plants had cared for her, weaving around her and protecting her tiny body from the fist of the world until one day the familiar painted bastard waltzes up and asks her to come home with him. Well was she going to simply scoff and decline?
Of course not.
Minerva wove honeysuckle blossoms in her mane and tail, dripping with sweet morning dew. The flowers craved her attention, moving their pretty heads towards her, begging for a glance. Minerva would indulge the rose as well as the thorns, caressing them softly, running the tip of her tongue along their edges.
But a voice -male, young- breaks the spell as she turns her face away from the wild flora. Dark green eyes look to find a small male, trapped between colt and stallionhood, standing there before her. He is painted like her but purple and probably one of the Kerberos clan. Finely chiseled hips swing around so she may look upon the other with a small pursed lipped smirk, tasting his youthful scent. Minerva was around a year his senior, not much older, toying between the lines of her own adulthood.
A small gathering of roses are now at her feet as she silently wills them to leave their places amongst the thorns. She drops her face as they eagerly brush against her muzzle to pay tribute to their queen. "Kharon. Minerva breathes his name against the petals of the flowers at her hooves before one leaves, root limbs covering the space between them quickly, and stops before the male. "I'm Minerva." The green girl lifts her head, the roses now braided into a crown, smiling at Kharon coyly. "Lovely to meet you. Would your father happen to be Kerberos?" She asks him while watching from beneath long sooty lashes, already knowing the answer.
Of course not.
Minerva wove honeysuckle blossoms in her mane and tail, dripping with sweet morning dew. The flowers craved her attention, moving their pretty heads towards her, begging for a glance. Minerva would indulge the rose as well as the thorns, caressing them softly, running the tip of her tongue along their edges.
But a voice -male, young- breaks the spell as she turns her face away from the wild flora. Dark green eyes look to find a small male, trapped between colt and stallionhood, standing there before her. He is painted like her but purple and probably one of the Kerberos clan. Finely chiseled hips swing around so she may look upon the other with a small pursed lipped smirk, tasting his youthful scent. Minerva was around a year his senior, not much older, toying between the lines of her own adulthood.
A small gathering of roses are now at her feet as she silently wills them to leave their places amongst the thorns. She drops her face as they eagerly brush against her muzzle to pay tribute to their queen. "Kharon. Minerva breathes his name against the petals of the flowers at her hooves before one leaves, root limbs covering the space between them quickly, and stops before the male. "I'm Minerva." The green girl lifts her head, the roses now braided into a crown, smiling at Kharon coyly. "Lovely to meet you. Would your father happen to be Kerberos?" She asks him while watching from beneath long sooty lashes, already knowing the answer.
minerva