10-23-2018, 01:34 PM
Rajanish
It's dark - but Pangea always has a certain kind of darkness about it, and twilight turning into darkness is a normal circadian thing. The land is grey-ish, and relatively deserted, even though it seems to attract a lot of horses, besides himself and Zain no-one is actually staying in here.
But perhaps that can change. Maybe it just needs a little more... work.
His see-through form moves thoughtlessly through the darkness, until he spots a bright light ahead. A fire, no, it gives off more light, like a small star, or sun. Hmm. Not exactly befitting the lands.
He silently creeps closer, making use of the darkness just outside of her light circle, and his translucent form shouldn't be too easily noticed - most of the light will go through him. Then, at the edge of what he estimates to be her vision, he stops, and looks at her silently, with a cocked head. A filly. Too young for his tastes now. Where would her mother be, he wonders briefly - but then, even if she doesn't have a loving mother, she might be worth the keep. Depending on the effort it would take.
He's awfully silent, like always. Then, he lifts his muzzle and steps towards her. The fire she has is actually hot, he notices, and he squints his eyes to see how it attaches to her. But it's like the aura - not touching her. "This doesn't burn you, does it," he muses, as if talking to himself more than to her.
But perhaps that can change. Maybe it just needs a little more... work.
His see-through form moves thoughtlessly through the darkness, until he spots a bright light ahead. A fire, no, it gives off more light, like a small star, or sun. Hmm. Not exactly befitting the lands.
He silently creeps closer, making use of the darkness just outside of her light circle, and his translucent form shouldn't be too easily noticed - most of the light will go through him. Then, at the edge of what he estimates to be her vision, he stops, and looks at her silently, with a cocked head. A filly. Too young for his tastes now. Where would her mother be, he wonders briefly - but then, even if she doesn't have a loving mother, she might be worth the keep. Depending on the effort it would take.
He's awfully silent, like always. Then, he lifts his muzzle and steps towards her. The fire she has is actually hot, he notices, and he squints his eyes to see how it attaches to her. But it's like the aura - not touching her. "This doesn't burn you, does it," he muses, as if talking to himself more than to her.
No cost too great. No mind to think. No will to break.
No voice to cry out suffering.
No voice to cry out suffering.
@[Titanica] that's fine!
