06-07-2018, 05:29 PM
haze like a fever
i fell like a dreamer for sweet tea and lemonade; it clings to my t-shirt it’s loud and it lingers, designed to suffocate. i light up to find what i’ve known all this time, there’s some beauty here yet
For a few fragile moments, Wishbone wonders if it was just her imagination. The caverns of Nerine have been explored by many wanderers, especially the courageous young children of the kingdom, and it wouldn’t surprise her if the scent she had gotten had been stale from time. Perhaps the slender arm of a breeze had strengthened the power of the scent, causing her to think someone might be hiding in the depths of the shadows.
She is about to move forward from her still position when a voice replies back — low and masculine, echoing off the high walls of the cavern. A stallion. He steps into the moon’s glow, revealing the handsome white-and-black of his face (and the lines of his muscle, which the moon doesn’t fail to reveal; Wishbone’s eyes find themselves wandering there) and, while her belly should chill with dread, she finds a daredevil smile upon her face.
She doesn’t answer his initial question, swept away in the features of him, but his following words bring a laugh to her throat. Wishbone is still swallowed in the darkness just outside the circle of the moonlight and, to any eyes who might seek her out, she could look akin to a slender shadow echoing impulsive laughter into the hazy night.
But he’s moving now, sliding into the shadow before stepping into the whispering waves, and she is turning to follow his path. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” (I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.) There’s a hint of something sultry in her voice and she rolls with it, even as it surprises her. The waves call to her (quieter than he, but still whispering tunes of salt-soaked teasing and undiscovered depths) and she steps up from behind him, touching the seafoam that rides on the breeze with her sable nose.
The shine of the stars and the glow of the moon is stronger here, casting her in an astral light that suits her far too well. It adds years to her body, providing hazy shine to the curve of her hip and the slope of her shoulder while also shadowing the angle of her cheek and the bend of her chest. Her dark, unkempt mane holds auburn highlight along the tangled tips, bleached from the severity of the sun. Her amber eyes find the constellations above, searching out the shape of Orion.
“Someday soon, this cave will be mine. Along with all of Nerine.” It could sound maniacal — perhaps on the lips of a tiny dark pony with a bright-red clown nose — but against the hush of the waves and the honey-whiskey of her voice, it is serene. Wishbone’s gaze turns away from the starry sky to find the slope of his face again, hellbent on making sure this night does not go toward politics and kingdoms. “What is a handsome stranger like you doing here?”
She is about to move forward from her still position when a voice replies back — low and masculine, echoing off the high walls of the cavern. A stallion. He steps into the moon’s glow, revealing the handsome white-and-black of his face (and the lines of his muscle, which the moon doesn’t fail to reveal; Wishbone’s eyes find themselves wandering there) and, while her belly should chill with dread, she finds a daredevil smile upon her face.
She doesn’t answer his initial question, swept away in the features of him, but his following words bring a laugh to her throat. Wishbone is still swallowed in the darkness just outside the circle of the moonlight and, to any eyes who might seek her out, she could look akin to a slender shadow echoing impulsive laughter into the hazy night.
But he’s moving now, sliding into the shadow before stepping into the whispering waves, and she is turning to follow his path. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” (I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.) There’s a hint of something sultry in her voice and she rolls with it, even as it surprises her. The waves call to her (quieter than he, but still whispering tunes of salt-soaked teasing and undiscovered depths) and she steps up from behind him, touching the seafoam that rides on the breeze with her sable nose.
The shine of the stars and the glow of the moon is stronger here, casting her in an astral light that suits her far too well. It adds years to her body, providing hazy shine to the curve of her hip and the slope of her shoulder while also shadowing the angle of her cheek and the bend of her chest. Her dark, unkempt mane holds auburn highlight along the tangled tips, bleached from the severity of the sun. Her amber eyes find the constellations above, searching out the shape of Orion.
“Someday soon, this cave will be mine. Along with all of Nerine.” It could sound maniacal — perhaps on the lips of a tiny dark pony with a bright-red clown nose — but against the hush of the waves and the honey-whiskey of her voice, it is serene. Wishbone’s gaze turns away from the starry sky to find the slope of his face again, hellbent on making sure this night does not go toward politics and kingdoms. “What is a handsome stranger like you doing here?”
@[Ivar]