Once called a filly, our born-again golden mare weaves her way delicately through the tall red woods of Taiga. Her build no longer the narrow, lanky doe but instead strong and beautiful. Her mother had left her mark, the widened hindquarters and wind-knotted stark cream mane practically built by Brine herself. Though Ruthless carries herself differently.
She emerges from the treeline far beyond the Taigan border, the soft coo of the river pulling her forward. Slowly her head lowers to the water line, her soft pink muzzle brushing the surface as the cool water ripples into her nose.
A branch falls.
As if awoken, she lurches forward into the river before spinning around to face the source of noise. A loud, alarming snort sounds as her nostrils flare. The afternoon sun gleams down onto her like a poorly timed spotlight, the soft whistle of wind blowing the tops of the pine trees in a serenade.
To say she has been on edge would be an understatement. With Kalil being gone, her stability had shifted. It had felt like with his leave he had taken her footing and left her to continuously scramble to stand. Lilliana had been… off. No one in Taiga seemed the same. Is that what home is supposed to feel like?
As peace settles again her ears twitch and finally her neck lowers to an even height with her withers, watching as soft cream strands fall aimlessly down her side with some strands even long enough to brush the water’s surface. The silence that ensues is so pure that Ruthless finds herself lost in the distant coo of nature.
And for the first time in what seems like forever, Ruthless isn’t lost in her mind at all. She is temporarily present, cooling herself in the soft pressure of water.