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    Svedka -- Year 212


    “He only knows home in his dreams and even those dreams do not mimic large, centuries-old redwoods. Lio doesn't remember the last time he laid his head down and truly felt comfortable.” --Elio, written by Phaetra

    [open]  Eyes are the soul's windows...
    [Image: fenestra_v2_zpsqfjcleob.png]

    The land was still and silent. Even the birds were yet asleep, except for a single owl that hooted quietly from its perch within the distant tree line. Night slowly released its grasp upon the world, and the first hints of dawn began to appear on the horizon, a pastel glow that spread magically across the snow covered expanse like the flushing of cheeks. As the sun made its entrance, so did a golden mare. A stranger to this land, she had been traveling for four cycles of the moon. The journey had made her fit, fast and keenly observant.

    She moves with an unrivaled grace and lightness that make her a pleasure to behold. She exudes an aura of confidence and authority; a sharp juxtaposition with her youthful features and large, kind eyes. It's the aura leaders tend to possess, the good ones coupled with humility and honor. Time would tell if her temperament included such qualities. She arches her neck grandly, tail flagging, and comes to a halt at the edge of the lake. She lowers her lips to the glassy water and takes a long drink. Seemingly endless locks cascade down the sides of her neck and the back of her hindquarters like a frothing golden waterfall, so shiny they’re nearly holographic. Her forelock hangs well beyond the end of flared nostrils.

    An eclectic heritage is evident in every muscle of her sleek, lissome body: Iberian Horse, Crabbet Arabian, Akhal-Teke, Marwari, Noriker, Spanish Mustang, Gypsy Cob. So far removed from the purebreds of her past, she might as well represent a new breed. The mare is neither tall nor short, standing at a respectable 16.0 hands. Despite a baroque silhouette, she is not heavy or course like some drafts. She has a long, snaking neck with a high, arched crest. Her powerful, leanly muscled hindquarters convey youth and fertility. Strength is apparent in the width of her chest, depth of her heart girth, spring of her ribs and circumference of her cannon bones. She might pass for a full-blooded Iberian if not for her delicately chiseled features, inward-curving ear tips, exotic coat color and the silky feathering that runs down the backs of her cannons.

    Her mane and tail are exceptionally long and lustrous, and her coat sparkles in the light with a healthful iridescence. Their metallic luster is reminiscent of the legendary Akhal-Teke horses of the Turkoman desert. The sheen is so intense that her mane and tail might as well be liquid gold, the varying vibrant shades of highlights and lowlights giving her hair a streaked appearance. Her eyes, like deep, clear pools littered with icy sapphires, glitter with an inner charisma. Those long-lashed, wintery eyes are framed by thick black eyeliner akin to what white-faced horses are sometimes blessed with, although she has no white markings herself. There was nothing supernatural about these qualities, on the contrary they were the result of a unique blend of genetics. Magic, or a lack thereof, was the very reason she stood in the field this day.

    The flick of her expressive ears betrays the subject of her attention: You.

    [Image: giphy.gif]

    She was not quite what you would call refined.

    Dawn finds the Rook out flying, as she often is, sharp eagle eyes watching the earth for prey and anything - anyone - of interest. The field is often disappointing but today a body crosses through it, the early sun peeking over the edge illuminating their golden shape. Ever ready to meet a stranger from a strange land, Popinjay shifts out of her enormous avian shape to something rather more horse-like. The curls of her mane, wind-whipped, become wild knots that bounce and swing against her dark, curved neck, and in the light of the new day, she is smoke and coals, her near-black coat burnished with red.

    She lands in a flurry of feathers - the season is growing late, the old feathers are falling loose and making room for new, and it makes her wings itch, makes the feathers harder to settle into place so the little bay shakes them vigorously until the fall together with a whispery, zipping, sort of sound. Her eyes are dancing, her grin is bright, as she approaches the stranger and blue eyes flick her way.

    Poppy pulls up close - too close - she has never bothered with the better parts of social etiquette. The palomino smells of places far away from here, far away from magic and dragonfire, and that is interesting enough, in its way. Foreigners are rare, Beqanna is surrounded on all sides by water, after all, and she has no wings to easily cross those seas.

    "Hello! How did you get here?"

    Image by Ratty

    Fenestra Hello! Sorry this reply took so long, but welcome to BQ! Smile There is a current site-wide plot involving an eclipse we can't get rid of so everything is very dark, but we can either pretend this thread is happening before all that, or write the eclipse in as we go, whatever you prefer! Here's the thread with more info https://beqanna.com/forum/showthread.php?tid=28607
    The golden mare watched with a keen interest as the winged horse approached. She had never seen a flying horse before, although she had heard the tales. As the stranger drew close, the mare snorted and tossed her head, unable to quell her delight. She feigned indifference to the close proximity, although her tail wrung around her hind limbs as a subtle hint to her opinion.

    "I came on a ship," the mare said, a distant look beginning to glimmer in her eyes. It was a look that suggested she was seeing into the past with a sort of soft dread intermingled with controlled rage. "The ship capsized in a storm and I was the only one to escape." She swished her tail with agitation at the memory. There was more to the story, but she wasn't ready to divulge her darkest secrets to the stranger.

    In truth, she had left her herd to venture to the fabled mountain. Her herd had long abandoned their magical ways, although she could feel it in her veins. An icy spark. And within her heart was an irresistible calling. Arriving at the coast and looking out across the seemingly endless expanse of water, she knew she wasn't ready to make the swim. So, she began to gallop the beaches, seeking out the deepest sand to build her strength, venturing farther and farther into the seas. Every day she grew stronger.

    Before she could make the swim, two legged creatures appeared. They were the enemy of legends in her lands, although she had never laid eyes upon them until that fateful day. They saw her lustrous coat and pale eyes and coveted her, knowing she would command a significant sum. She had put up a terrible fight, injuring one, but in the end they overpowered her with their ropes and loaded her onto the ship.

    The distant look left her eyes and she again focused on the mare. "My name is Fenestra. Who are you?"

    Thanks for informing me of the site wide plot! I don't know what alternative universe I was in that I missed that, and I swear the season was winter too. Night shift brain I guess... I'm a foaling attendant IRL so I am riding the struggle bus on the night shift lol If it doesn't mess up continuity with your character, let's assume this is shortly before the eclipse! Also sorry this took so long, I lost my original response and was super bummed out about having to retype it lol

    She was not quite what you would call refined

    "I'm Popinjay."

    She has no idea what a ship is and her expression brightens to a mad shine while her imagination spins off and away from their conversation. The little bay finds herself studying the mare's back for signs of hidden wings, and dropping her head low to scrutinize her hooves as though the answer lies in there somehow, but there's nothing. Perhaps it's not a piece of magic that Fenestra holds, but a thing. What could a ship possibly look like? She fancies it like an enormous crocodile, drifting between the salty waves like lilypads, ferrying horses back and forth from Beqanna and Beyond until a storm capsized him and spilled his passengers into the angry sea. Her grin softens imperceptibly.

    "I hope he's okay."

    Popinjay is pretty sure that's what you're supposed to say when somebody gives you bad news, and she's fairly certain that when people start talking about survivors, it isn't good but the truth is that she has never been very good at summoning up sympathy or empathy when she hasn't been directly affected.

    "Would you say that a ship is as big as a dragon? Or do you think it's bigger? I wonder which one would win in fight? Cuz y'know, I can carry a horse, prob'ly two if I really wanted to, and I don't think dragon could carry much more than that, actually."

    She ruffles her wings as if to emphasize her point. A point that is likely to remain hidden from a stranger newly arrived on the continent's shores, one that has never seen her other shape, but she does nothing further to elaborate.
    Image by Breyos

    FenestraBABIES. you should join us in the discord chat sometime. Bring pictures. https://discord.gg/jGcbytbF

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