In a circle around her, the ground is black and burnt, and the grass nearby is withered from heat.
There is no fire anymore – the spring has been too wet to allow it to spread – and Dorne is just waking up from her position in the center of it all.
The smell of ash is strong, and the green-eyed mare blinks away the sleep from her eyes as she rolls to her feet. Judging from the way she looks at the charred earth around her, this is not the first time that the spotted mare has woken up in such a situation.
Awake, she has control of the fire that burns inside her; when she dreams she defends herself from imaginary foes using genuine dragon fire.
The white blanket on her hips and back is smeared with soot (the fire burned beneath her while she slept on), and her stockinged legs are blackened as well. There is a stream nearby, and she leaves her burnt circle to wade into it. As tall as she is, the water does not even reach her belly, so she drops to roll against the smooth stones at the river’s edge until she is black only in the proper places.
She shakes the water off and raises her emerald gaze to the crescent moon, and considers falling back asleep. The dawn is pinking the edges of the horizon though, and the mare decides that she might as well start yet another day as homeless mare. She’s avoided contact with other horses for the past month for her own reasons, but this morning, if someone were to approach, perhaps he’d not walk the other way.
I have ponies in the Desert and the Falls already, but I’m open to anywhere else
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[url=//www.pinterest.com/pin/create/extension/]
There is no fire anymore – the spring has been too wet to allow it to spread – and Dorne is just waking up from her position in the center of it all.
The smell of ash is strong, and the green-eyed mare blinks away the sleep from her eyes as she rolls to her feet. Judging from the way she looks at the charred earth around her, this is not the first time that the spotted mare has woken up in such a situation.
Awake, she has control of the fire that burns inside her; when she dreams she defends herself from imaginary foes using genuine dragon fire.
The white blanket on her hips and back is smeared with soot (the fire burned beneath her while she slept on), and her stockinged legs are blackened as well. There is a stream nearby, and she leaves her burnt circle to wade into it. As tall as she is, the water does not even reach her belly, so she drops to roll against the smooth stones at the river’s edge until she is black only in the proper places.
She shakes the water off and raises her emerald gaze to the crescent moon, and considers falling back asleep. The dawn is pinking the edges of the horizon though, and the mare decides that she might as well start yet another day as homeless mare. She’s avoided contact with other horses for the past month for her own reasons, but this morning, if someone were to approach, perhaps he’d not walk the other way.
I have ponies in the Desert and the Falls already, but I’m open to anywhere else
[/url]
[url=//www.pinterest.com/pin/create/extension/]