05-24-2020, 08:21 AM
Eurwen
the secret of walking on water
is knowing where the rocks lie
is knowing where the rocks lie
The mare in the middle seems to be a little overwhelmed - something that Eurwen can relate to, these days. However much she may be strong enough to carry her worries alone, at least for a while, she feels very much like she doesn’t want to - at least, not for too long, and not by just herself. What is the point of carrying weights and worries, the point of leading and ruling, if she can’t share it with anyone? For that alone, she knows she will never want or crave power, in fact she resents it.
She doesn’t need power to bring changes, to steer the world bit by bit into the direction she might want it to go. The rose-gold maned mare knows how to change - herself and others - and it starts with this; with befriending the right people.
Bru, the palomino-and-pink calles herself, and to this, Wen gives a little nod. It’s not her turn to speak however, the male and female who’d arrived before her - one older, one younger, she notices - doing so first. The male in the water seems very attractive - almost overly so. There is a sense of caution coming to her that she cannot quite place (perhaps the way he looks her over), but then, she isn’t too near him right now, and she decides to pretend she doesn’t notice his mesmerizing looks, in favour of the woman who might indeed be searching for a home.
Eurwen is a patient girl, has always been, and though she blinks once at the mare beside her who claims to be of Nerine - she’s never seen her - she doesn’t otherwise deny her. She smells of the wild, of forests - not Taiga, not Nerine, not the cold and ashen Isle; but perhaps she’d only recently arrived, or kept to the shadows, or - has the same damned wandering-trait her father does. If it wasn’t for the ice that always clings to him, he might smell more of the forest than his home, too, she reckons.
For a while, she wonders why her mind brings up her father, until finally her conscious latches on to what her subconscious tells her - the galaxy-marked palomino - Beryl - has a few mannerisms that she recognizes. Seems that she’ll want to talk to the self-proclaimed Nerinian then; but perhaps not here, and not right now. They’re kind of in the middle of something.
”Ischia is a lovely place, if that’s the thing you’re looking for,” the spotted mare agrees. She’s never been, but her conversation with Loire, who hailed from there, had given her enough insight. It would never be her own home, though. ”I’m Eurwen - from Nerine, as well.” she offers a small smile to both other mares, a knowing look to Beryl, a warmer one for the mare calling herself Bru. ”Much colder than what Ivar has to offer, and perhaps colder than this water right now, as well. But it’s also a more independent nation. Wild winds, sturdy rocks, green moors, and a few beautiful sea-caves near the black sands down below equally-colored cliffs.” Bru didn’t seem to be the type to… how had he put it? A few other mares to keep you company - a herd, then. She didn’t seem a regular herd mare to the spotted Knabstrup hybrid, though looks could sometimes be deceiving. She smiles a little, wondering if she had the right of it or if the male had. ”Some say the women of Nerine are much like the land itself, but I find the likeness more in being free, sometimes rock-stubborn, than to say that we are a cold folk.”
She doesn’t need power to bring changes, to steer the world bit by bit into the direction she might want it to go. The rose-gold maned mare knows how to change - herself and others - and it starts with this; with befriending the right people.
Bru, the palomino-and-pink calles herself, and to this, Wen gives a little nod. It’s not her turn to speak however, the male and female who’d arrived before her - one older, one younger, she notices - doing so first. The male in the water seems very attractive - almost overly so. There is a sense of caution coming to her that she cannot quite place (perhaps the way he looks her over), but then, she isn’t too near him right now, and she decides to pretend she doesn’t notice his mesmerizing looks, in favour of the woman who might indeed be searching for a home.
Eurwen is a patient girl, has always been, and though she blinks once at the mare beside her who claims to be of Nerine - she’s never seen her - she doesn’t otherwise deny her. She smells of the wild, of forests - not Taiga, not Nerine, not the cold and ashen Isle; but perhaps she’d only recently arrived, or kept to the shadows, or - has the same damned wandering-trait her father does. If it wasn’t for the ice that always clings to him, he might smell more of the forest than his home, too, she reckons.
For a while, she wonders why her mind brings up her father, until finally her conscious latches on to what her subconscious tells her - the galaxy-marked palomino - Beryl - has a few mannerisms that she recognizes. Seems that she’ll want to talk to the self-proclaimed Nerinian then; but perhaps not here, and not right now. They’re kind of in the middle of something.
”Ischia is a lovely place, if that’s the thing you’re looking for,” the spotted mare agrees. She’s never been, but her conversation with Loire, who hailed from there, had given her enough insight. It would never be her own home, though. ”I’m Eurwen - from Nerine, as well.” she offers a small smile to both other mares, a knowing look to Beryl, a warmer one for the mare calling herself Bru. ”Much colder than what Ivar has to offer, and perhaps colder than this water right now, as well. But it’s also a more independent nation. Wild winds, sturdy rocks, green moors, and a few beautiful sea-caves near the black sands down below equally-colored cliffs.” Bru didn’t seem to be the type to… how had he put it? A few other mares to keep you company - a herd, then. She didn’t seem a regular herd mare to the spotted Knabstrup hybrid, though looks could sometimes be deceiving. She smiles a little, wondering if she had the right of it or if the male had. ”Some say the women of Nerine are much like the land itself, but I find the likeness more in being free, sometimes rock-stubborn, than to say that we are a cold folk.”
@[Brujeria] @[Ivar] @[Beryl]