Poised. Careful. Bru takes a deep, calming breath as she steps forward carefully, delicately. Empty black eyes gaze over the landscape before her. Small groups of horses graze politely together, heads shaking and tails flicking carelessly. Bru does not join them, she merely watches. A heavy sigh rolls through her as she skirts the edges of the meadow, slinking through the bespeckled shadows cast on the grass by a nearby grove of trees. Where the sun hits her, her shiny golden coat glistens softly, muted pink locks dancing softly with her movement.
She feels aged, weary, watching these other equines socialize as though they’ve known each other for ages. ”Maybe they do. You should not assume.” Brujeria scolds herself aloud, tossing her heavy head, disturbing several of the spiders that call her antlers home. Another sigh. She always sighs, she’s always exasperated- or tired- or both. Finally, she steps out of the shadows and into the sunlight, the water at the center of the clearing calling her name with a soft babble.
Bru has always loved water, she feels almost at home with the soft roar of the waterfall building as she nears, looking at it almost in awe. A dry tongue runs over her lips, parched. She had spent enough time lurking in the shadows deciding if anyone was a threat. Thirst was a great motivator, long, floating strides carrying her relatively short build across the grass. Her pace was a brisk walk as she passes other horses, making deliberate eye contact with each one that lifted their head to survey her. To say that some were unnerved by her voids of eyes would be accurate. Some moved away from her and ushered their foals to do the same, others merely looked away quickly. Bru was no stranger to this negative attention. Delicate, petite, graceful from a distance, but those lifeless eyes of hers always seemed to push others away.
Sweet, sweet water. She takes sip after sip, wetting her whistle and settling that dry ache in her throat. After she feels sated, she walks into the water, knee-deep. Looking down, she inspects her reflection. Golden body? Check. White stockings and a bald face? Check. Soft pink hair decorated with an assortment of twigs, leaves, feathers, and whatever else she could get to stay? Check. And of course, those almost comically large pink antlers sitting atop her head, spiderwebs holding droplets of water to dance in the sunlight and green moss slouching over the curves of her protrusions. Witchy? Earthy? Both? She almost wished she knew how others perceived her.
OOC: I'm rusty, bear with me! Tips, pointers, and suggestions appreciated!
She feels aged, weary, watching these other equines socialize as though they’ve known each other for ages. ”Maybe they do. You should not assume.” Brujeria scolds herself aloud, tossing her heavy head, disturbing several of the spiders that call her antlers home. Another sigh. She always sighs, she’s always exasperated- or tired- or both. Finally, she steps out of the shadows and into the sunlight, the water at the center of the clearing calling her name with a soft babble.
Bru has always loved water, she feels almost at home with the soft roar of the waterfall building as she nears, looking at it almost in awe. A dry tongue runs over her lips, parched. She had spent enough time lurking in the shadows deciding if anyone was a threat. Thirst was a great motivator, long, floating strides carrying her relatively short build across the grass. Her pace was a brisk walk as she passes other horses, making deliberate eye contact with each one that lifted their head to survey her. To say that some were unnerved by her voids of eyes would be accurate. Some moved away from her and ushered their foals to do the same, others merely looked away quickly. Bru was no stranger to this negative attention. Delicate, petite, graceful from a distance, but those lifeless eyes of hers always seemed to push others away.
Sweet, sweet water. She takes sip after sip, wetting her whistle and settling that dry ache in her throat. After she feels sated, she walks into the water, knee-deep. Looking down, she inspects her reflection. Golden body? Check. White stockings and a bald face? Check. Soft pink hair decorated with an assortment of twigs, leaves, feathers, and whatever else she could get to stay? Check. And of course, those almost comically large pink antlers sitting atop her head, spiderwebs holding droplets of water to dance in the sunlight and green moss slouching over the curves of her protrusions. Witchy? Earthy? Both? She almost wished she knew how others perceived her.
OOC: I'm rusty, bear with me! Tips, pointers, and suggestions appreciated!
b r u j e r i a
pass the potion