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  • Beqanna

    version 22: awakening


    LILLIANA -- Year 206


    "There is still something of himself - something of the Wolfbane who would always love her - that rallies against the slime. It says, 'lie in the bed you’ve made'. So he gathers the covers and tucks himself in." -- Wolfbane, written by Calcifer

    Struck by a thorn; Any!

    Khalta was born deep inside the Tephran forests, shyly cloaked underneath the thick canopy, away from other horses and the blistering heat which the young colt rather disliked. 
    Perhaps it had something to do with him being born in a cold season, full of snow and pallid landscape, and being able to play in the snow as it arrived and slowly gathered in the warm lands of Tephra.

    His eyes dart open when a snowflake lands on his face, looking up toward the forest canopy with a smile, his expression showing a small piece of admiration for the snowflake, having managed to beat through such thick forest and greet the small foal, which Khalta deemed impressive by his standards.

    The blanketed colt flaps his small wings with vigour as he spurts upwards, managing to gain a little air as he stands up, his eyes darting around the landscape before bolting toward the edge of the forest, watching the snow fall around him as he bucks and waltzes, excited to get out of the forest and leave his mother for a while.

    He quickly moves out into the open, his legs finding it hard to balance as he slides around, almost tripping and falling over as he slowly comes to a stop, a grin still covering his face as he vaults in position, leaping around in the snow, his wings trying their best to lift him into the air.

    Khalta stops suddenly when he hears a twig crack behind him, his body freezing for a moment before suddenly contorting and quickly shifting into a stem which after a second of forming, becomes a singular white rose, sitting comfortably among the snow.

    Ever since birth he had been quite nervous and shied away at the slightest of sounds, he wasn't very confident and relied on his parents to guide him, often refusing to meet other foals or talk to other horses because he was too scared, perhaps just because he thought they were terrifying or that they wouldn't accept him.

    The rose moves feebly in the direction of the cold breeze, using only his senses and roots to try and determine who was around him.
    Even as a plant he was surprised as to how much he could do and feel, even managing to hear subtle sounds around him or feel the terrain around him change as the weather changed, he even enjoyed it at times, being able to connect with other plants, quietly talking about secrets and whispers throughout Beqanna, enjoying his time as a plant.


    But he who dares not grasp the thorn 

    Should never crave the rose


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