While she waits - for what she has no clue - the leopard mare tries to pass the time. The clouds in the sky are counted, and the shells half-buried in the sand are categorized by shapes, color and numbers at least five separate times. At some point, the lullaby of the beach symphony and the dull rays of sunlight carry her into a brief, restless slumber.
Something tugs at her tail and though at first she is highly inclined to ignore it, its annoying persistance is enough to make her lift her head. Apparently the greedy sun had sunk lower, and the tide had swelled, evidenced by the way the strands of her pale tail floated and shifted with the flow of the surf drawing ever closer. A smart girl might've grown somewhat concerned for her well-being, a wise woman might've pushed herself up and moved along with her day. But the hollow mare was neither of those things and so much less. Where her world began and ended was the view directly in front of her and the vacancy of a purpose could not move her.
Her ebony chin collides with the sand again, though not before those dim brown eyes of hers follow the path of a yearling searching for something. Mildly invested, her ghost hued ears shift forward, the own line of her sight moving as he does, especially so when he seems to take notice of the heap of a mess she appears to be. She doesn't know it, or rather, couldn't be bothered to care, but she looks like a salt-encrusted, sun-bleached sea urchin. Practically skeletal in stature, the piece of driftwood nearby would appear to have more girth and substance than she had flaunted in a long time.
His absolute voice is loud and foreign to her. How long had it been since someone had spoken to her? He has earned a fractal of her interest, but still she doesn't make an effort to raise that disheveled head of hers.
"No," she responds placidly. And looking back, she concludes that at one point in time she must have had some semblance of selflessness and some grasp on manners - or so she can only hope - because she reciprocates with a sincere, "Are you alright?"
@[Dacre]
Something tugs at her tail and though at first she is highly inclined to ignore it, its annoying persistance is enough to make her lift her head. Apparently the greedy sun had sunk lower, and the tide had swelled, evidenced by the way the strands of her pale tail floated and shifted with the flow of the surf drawing ever closer. A smart girl might've grown somewhat concerned for her well-being, a wise woman might've pushed herself up and moved along with her day. But the hollow mare was neither of those things and so much less. Where her world began and ended was the view directly in front of her and the vacancy of a purpose could not move her.
Her ebony chin collides with the sand again, though not before those dim brown eyes of hers follow the path of a yearling searching for something. Mildly invested, her ghost hued ears shift forward, the own line of her sight moving as he does, especially so when he seems to take notice of the heap of a mess she appears to be. She doesn't know it, or rather, couldn't be bothered to care, but she looks like a salt-encrusted, sun-bleached sea urchin. Practically skeletal in stature, the piece of driftwood nearby would appear to have more girth and substance than she had flaunted in a long time.
His absolute voice is loud and foreign to her. How long had it been since someone had spoken to her? He has earned a fractal of her interest, but still she doesn't make an effort to raise that disheveled head of hers.
"No," she responds placidly. And looking back, she concludes that at one point in time she must have had some semblance of selflessness and some grasp on manners - or so she can only hope - because she reciprocates with a sincere, "Are you alright?"
@[Dacre]