I precede the dawn across the hills, feeling the dew of the grass as it brushes against my navy legs, and pausing now and then to brush my muzzle across the velvet soft ferns or the beaded burro tails. The plant life of Loess is second to none, not even to the magically autumnal woods from whence I come. I nibble at the ripe fruit of a prickly pear, and watch (nearly cross eyed) as a moth rests on the bridge of my nose before fluttering off to the next flower.
The soft rustling around me suggests that the world is waking, but it will be hours still before the larger creatures rouse themselves. I have the place to myself, at least for a time.
I pass the three-armed saguaro and turn at the crooked pine, venturing farther and farther from any known trail. This is the scrubby land where few horses venture, the heart of Loess where the springs are often bitter or sour if they are drinkable at all. The rocky hills grow steeper, and I squeeze through a narrow crevice in the rock and then scramble up another boulder, only to step into open space.
I plummet toward the suddenly distant earth, but a last-second flare of my wings has me landing lightly beside a clear pool of water. It reflects the fading moonlight and the pale haze of dawn. I lower my head to the fresh water, and then watch the world around me grow lighter.
I had told Arthas I was leaving early for Ischia, but after spiraling upwards I had banked north rather than west, and landed just across the border. Our conversation last night had not ended well, and the dappled stallion hadn't returned to our thicket to rest. I've no doubt he found comfort with another mare - Rey perhaps, or a willing Sylvan mare - and that does not bother me. It should, I have begun to realize. It should, but it doesn't.
Other things that should not bother me do, and the disharmony between these two realizations has be splashing one navy hoof in the water to shatter my reflection. I am not given to outburst of temper in public - not anymore, not with this title - but here I am alone and can do as I see fit.
ooc: Lepis is where the person is in this picture
@[Wolfbane] hello this is for you now
The soft rustling around me suggests that the world is waking, but it will be hours still before the larger creatures rouse themselves. I have the place to myself, at least for a time.
I pass the three-armed saguaro and turn at the crooked pine, venturing farther and farther from any known trail. This is the scrubby land where few horses venture, the heart of Loess where the springs are often bitter or sour if they are drinkable at all. The rocky hills grow steeper, and I squeeze through a narrow crevice in the rock and then scramble up another boulder, only to step into open space.
I plummet toward the suddenly distant earth, but a last-second flare of my wings has me landing lightly beside a clear pool of water. It reflects the fading moonlight and the pale haze of dawn. I lower my head to the fresh water, and then watch the world around me grow lighter.
I had told Arthas I was leaving early for Ischia, but after spiraling upwards I had banked north rather than west, and landed just across the border. Our conversation last night had not ended well, and the dappled stallion hadn't returned to our thicket to rest. I've no doubt he found comfort with another mare - Rey perhaps, or a willing Sylvan mare - and that does not bother me. It should, I have begun to realize. It should, but it doesn't.
Other things that should not bother me do, and the disharmony between these two realizations has be splashing one navy hoof in the water to shatter my reflection. I am not given to outburst of temper in public - not anymore, not with this title - but here I am alone and can do as I see fit.
ooc: Lepis is where the person is in this picture
@[Wolfbane] hello this is for you now
