07-07-2019, 10:33 PM
chaos is only understood when
it is loved by the wild,
not the weak.
She had been born a fearless girl, and it showed.
She had been born in smoke and fire, when Loess had stormed Tephra with their dragon-shifters and their shadow-spinners, forcing the land into flame and darkness. One of the first things she had heard was the distant sound of battlecries – and then the soft sound of her mother’s voice, trying to urge her to stand as the fire burned closer, and the volcano rumbled its threat. Within her first moments of life she had learned what it meant to outrun danger, and instead of living her life in fear, she had embraced it.
She had escaped death as a newborn – she is so certain she can do it again, and again.
Her mother was never amused by her reckless behavior, but as Aislyn grew older, there was little she could do about it. Even though Tephra was still her home – it was still where her mother most often returned to, and where her father could sometimes be found in the greatest depths of it – she had fled its borders long ago. Beqanna was vast and exciting, but her and her mother didn’t share the same idea of what an adventure consisted of. She had already explored all that Tephra had to offer, and she could feel her wanderlust begin to stir.
The common lands were not always her favorite places to come. They were well-traveled, and she much preferred the secret caves of the mountains, or the darkest shadows of the forest. But on occasion she found that she grew bored with her own company, and if that feeling decided to take root rather than be a passing thought, she would venture down closer to the gathering areas.
Today she comes to the meadow, her breath fanning in plumes of steam from her nose as she makes her way through the snow. She looks across the open land with vibrant pink eyes, and a few flakes that drift from the sky settle in the raven-black of her mane. She is oddly colored, with a coat that is panther-black, and peculiar smatterings of porcelain-white all across her. The fuchsia of her eyes, such a startling contrast against her black face, is what sets her apart the most. She doesn’t have any magic or tricks or skills to speak of, but she was intriguingly beautiful, even at such a young age.
She sees the other colt in the distance, and for a moment she just watches him. With a tilt of her head, she can see that he is engaging in some sort of mock battle, and she immediately is drawn to him. When he pauses for breath, she bounds over, sending snow spraying behind her as she eagerly and unabashedly encroaches right into his space. “Hi! I’m Aislyn,” she says in a voice that still has the girlish trill of a youth, her eyes bright and glittering when they find the brilliant blue of his own. “What are you doing?”
She had been born in smoke and fire, when Loess had stormed Tephra with their dragon-shifters and their shadow-spinners, forcing the land into flame and darkness. One of the first things she had heard was the distant sound of battlecries – and then the soft sound of her mother’s voice, trying to urge her to stand as the fire burned closer, and the volcano rumbled its threat. Within her first moments of life she had learned what it meant to outrun danger, and instead of living her life in fear, she had embraced it.
She had escaped death as a newborn – she is so certain she can do it again, and again.
Her mother was never amused by her reckless behavior, but as Aislyn grew older, there was little she could do about it. Even though Tephra was still her home – it was still where her mother most often returned to, and where her father could sometimes be found in the greatest depths of it – she had fled its borders long ago. Beqanna was vast and exciting, but her and her mother didn’t share the same idea of what an adventure consisted of. She had already explored all that Tephra had to offer, and she could feel her wanderlust begin to stir.
The common lands were not always her favorite places to come. They were well-traveled, and she much preferred the secret caves of the mountains, or the darkest shadows of the forest. But on occasion she found that she grew bored with her own company, and if that feeling decided to take root rather than be a passing thought, she would venture down closer to the gathering areas.
Today she comes to the meadow, her breath fanning in plumes of steam from her nose as she makes her way through the snow. She looks across the open land with vibrant pink eyes, and a few flakes that drift from the sky settle in the raven-black of her mane. She is oddly colored, with a coat that is panther-black, and peculiar smatterings of porcelain-white all across her. The fuchsia of her eyes, such a startling contrast against her black face, is what sets her apart the most. She doesn’t have any magic or tricks or skills to speak of, but she was intriguingly beautiful, even at such a young age.
She sees the other colt in the distance, and for a moment she just watches him. With a tilt of her head, she can see that he is engaging in some sort of mock battle, and she immediately is drawn to him. When he pauses for breath, she bounds over, sending snow spraying behind her as she eagerly and unabashedly encroaches right into his space. “Hi! I’m Aislyn,” she says in a voice that still has the girlish trill of a youth, her eyes bright and glittering when they find the brilliant blue of his own. “What are you doing?”
Aislyn
