08-21-2016, 07:45 AM
Her heart is like a bird fluttering against it's cage as she walked along with her father. (Her father!) Oakheart thinks of her mother. The quiet woman, the kindest of hearts, the small smile of gentle understanding that was always across her lips. Was October okay? Did the mare still roam amongst the living? Underneath it all,what had driven the mustang woman off was the lack of love, of purpose. When Oak had grown and stayed gone longer and longer...October knew it was her time to go...to drift on the open seas of vastness and bear the burden of her solitude. (October checked on her children from time to time and always at a distance.)
The soft tawny hide gains it's length alongside that of her darker father. The wild child, the patron saint of wanderlust, she walks along his side. Dark eyes move along the tree lines and sometimes along the shorelines as they travel. Oak finds herself enjoying her father's company. The tributaries of stories, of his life time, crease and crinkle various places of his form and tangle in the length of his hair. Occasionally as they walk, Oak steals glances at the man she has only recently begun to know but they were so alike it was uncanny.
As Manhattan stands at the edge, Oak can not help but look upward to him with a similar smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. Oak can catch a glimpse of what October had seen when she met the stallion as he stands forged against the gray sky and outlined by the white of falling snow. Small tufts of frosted air steam from his nostrils like a sleeping dragon.
When scaling the slope downward, Oak is behind him as well. The buttermilk mare navigates slowly at a crooked angle to take her time as the land could be slippery with the condensation that sometimes came with the abrupt onset of seasons.The Tundra, their new home, if the residents should have them.
The soft tawny hide gains it's length alongside that of her darker father. The wild child, the patron saint of wanderlust, she walks along his side. Dark eyes move along the tree lines and sometimes along the shorelines as they travel. Oak finds herself enjoying her father's company. The tributaries of stories, of his life time, crease and crinkle various places of his form and tangle in the length of his hair. Occasionally as they walk, Oak steals glances at the man she has only recently begun to know but they were so alike it was uncanny.
As Manhattan stands at the edge, Oak can not help but look upward to him with a similar smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. Oak can catch a glimpse of what October had seen when she met the stallion as he stands forged against the gray sky and outlined by the white of falling snow. Small tufts of frosted air steam from his nostrils like a sleeping dragon.
When scaling the slope downward, Oak is behind him as well. The buttermilk mare navigates slowly at a crooked angle to take her time as the land could be slippery with the condensation that sometimes came with the abrupt onset of seasons.The Tundra, their new home, if the residents should have them.
Oakheart
Manhattan x October