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    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    [open]  Good Ol' Days
    #1
    Symba stands over a small puddle after the day's rain. Looking down, he sees himself as a young colt, abandoned. A small smile creeps over his muzzle as he remembers Rhynne. What a great mare who sacrificed herself for him. He wishes he could do the same to her. He wonders where she is. It's been years since they've last seen each other. He sighs softly to himself as he sees his luscious mane which once was a fuzzball and non existant. 

    The setting sun across the horizon shines in the puddle, making Symba's golden coat shimmer all the more. He lets out a soft, sad whinny knowing he's most likely going to be alone forever. He hasn't seen another horse in who knows how long. He yearns to not be lonely. 

    He longs to have a mate.
    Someone. 
    Anyone. 

    @[Rhynne]
    #2
    BREACH

    Not many enter into Hyaline these days without Breach finding them first.

    Or, rather, someone in the pack.

    His scent, however, is unfamiliar, and she finds that it instantly puts her on edge. Sets her teeth on edge. She shifts into a wolf this time—a rangy body with sharp teeth and narrow paws. The canine is different than her preferred feline, but she doesn’t reject it entirely, knowing that one of her mother’s dearest friends was one. And Daye had been the one to teach her mother to hunt so there must be some use to it.

    Her tongue lolls slightly to the side of her mouth as she approaches the forlorn stallion, but her cunning eyes are sharp, and when her lips peel back over the canines, there is nothing friendly about her face.

    “Strangers are meat for the hunting games,” she growls as she approaches, hackles rising slowly.

    A pause, considering him.

    “That is, unless you are a shifter.”

    She sniffs, wondering if perhaps she had simply missed the scent of it.

    “So, are you? Or have you simply come to fill my belly?”

    I want to swim until we both begin to feel the weightlessness sink in





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