it was only a smile; chessur, any.

[merope]

MY HEART, IT WENT WILD

It feels safe here, that is her only real thought. Kidd is off, trying to prove her wrong, dancing around the edge of a cliff (Merope has told her to be careful, but she will not listen - her head is filled with something else, that girl), but the dread that would normally fill the mare is kept at ease. The girl may be young but she is not foolish (and she is not that close to the edge of the cliff), and the older mare finds herself breathing a little easier.
They have only been here a day, if that; the pair of bay roan mares followed Chessur to this land, and after short tour the stallion left them to explore by themselves, adapt to this new environment. Their new home, Kidd keeps chattering excitedly, and Merope is smiling too widely to correct her - this is their new home, even if it feels strange and unwarm so far.

The filly has spent the past day filled with a buzzing that Merope cannot remember possessing herself, though she knows what it is; it is promise and hope and new things. New adventures. She barely slept during the night, too filled with everything all at once to settle, and the older mare stopped trying to hush her after a while. She is glad that the filly is so happy; she deserves to be happy.

They seem to be the only ones here, though the land is large and the pair haven’t explored as much as Kidd thought they would - the filly is too distracted by the sights and smells and tastes to travel far. Merope loves to watch her, as she flirts with butterflies, picks flowers from the grass and berries off trees. But some small part of her wonders if this is all there will be; herself, her daughter, a blue stallion.
She wouldn’t mind, she supposes. But it would be nice to have some friends. it would be nice for Kidd to have some friends.

MEROPE

i wasn't expecting that.

[Chessur]

The grand highway
is crowded w/ lovers & searchers 
& leavers so eager to please & forget.

He loves and hates the way it smells like sea spray here. It’s why he chose this place, precipitous as it is. He is attracted to the smell of salt water and the sound of the ocean well below. 

It is a lullaby to him; it is a thing yanked from memory and somehow it is both beautiful and unwelcome.
Saltwater he can tolerate. Sand is different, but there is none of that here.
Maybe far down at the feet of the steep, glittering wall of rock and semi-precious stone. When he peers down, as he does often (he finds it calming and thrilling – when the moon falls in cut up slivers on the water’s surface and he stands over that wild frontier, eyes closed, the power of it washing over and over his skin with a tide), he can see a thin line of beach off to both sides. But directly below, all up and down the edge of the Ridge, the cliff dives straight down like a swan into the ocean, sending up a spray of jagged rocks and turbid water.
Nothing soft to catch anyone’s fall here.

He stops, just as the path of rock (and rock worn down to the dust) breaks along the sides with grass. He squints down as that well-worn footpath, as it cuts through their home and disappears out of his line of sight. Alone, or not (not anymore – that’s something), but they are without audience here, at least. Chessur twists his neck back to eye the colt, still muzzling his belly and thigh, searching hopelessly. He shifts his weight and pushes the boy away, turning around to catch him before he moves again to look for milk and something motherly. “Quit it,” it is a strained groan, tired, thin and shaken. He still cannot get a sense of his thoughts, they are garbled and babbling – first ‘hungry’, now ‘where’s ma’.
Nothing he can help him with, really.

But even if the sight of him marching the babe through Beqanna, constantly checking back to see if he has fallen or drifted, was tragic at best, he is not totally stupid. Untried, yes. He has no children (Kidd… he has Kidd, in some kind of way, yet to be figured out), but he knows what they need.
He turns back to squint along the horizon. Still alone. “Here,” he whispers, moving around the boy and licking from his angles the spatter of blood. It is rusty and unpleasant, and he realizes quite quickly that he cannot clean it all. He cannot clean it all like this. The boy needs a rain or a good soak. His right side is crusted, in places still shiny and wet, with blood. “Damnit.”

It had been his hope that he could get him perfect before he found Merope.
It is enough that he would have him at all, but in this state... She doesn’t need to know anything. Birth itself can be messy.

The boy trots at his side, bumping up and down and now his mind is surly and meandering (he is ‘hungry’, and he is ‘tired’ and he is confused; he is wanting to look at the water and show ma the colours). Until both hear the sound of hooves and they are relieved and curious in equal measure.
“Merope,” he tries to keep his voice even and relaxed. “This is... I found him,” he shifts away so the colt is better seen. He smiles, but it is belied by everything. By the blood on the boy and by the sleep in his eyes. He can only hope he can answer her questions sufficiently. She does not need to know. He needs to keep it down, though it threatens to rise up in his throat with bile.


CHESSUR
Trashlip and Phina's

[Blazed]

I had left them; G'ren and Raelnyx. For a new life and maybe even a mate for myself, but it likely wouldn't be. We all knew this, instinctively, that most breedings are one or two night flings with random stallions and almost never truly mate pairings.

Why? Why do we halt our life for heartbreaking flings we think can last but never do? We should stick to finding our love, a mate, and breeding with him only.

I snorted, at the small family unit - maybe not so, but it seemed - with it's stallion and mares. I eyed the blue stallion the most; but even I had dismissed him, he was too likely to already have his mate if he was with a family and multiple mares. Who cared, when one was best off not loving any horse but their own foals? If the father stayed, I wouldn't reject him; he'd have to leave me first or reject me, unless he treated us wrongly - like prizes to display - then I would go.

"I am from Raelnyx and G'ren Fire. Do you have any blood worthy of a Khaos descendant within you?" I ask haughtily the blue stallion, having shown up directly behind him and walking next to him silently. I had a great stealth, no not a power, simply an aquired skill earned through hard practice day or night.

[merope]

MY HEART, IT WENT WILD

It isn’t long until she can sense him again.
She can smell him, at first, just a hint carried on the breeze. Then before long she can see him, a blue blur, and a brief smile tugs at her lips, at the corners of her eyes. But he is not alone; she doesn’t know what is following him, who, but she can see some small figure. So Merope nudges Kidd - who is unwilling to follow, as she is having too much fun dancing in the wind as she does - and the pair move across the path towards Chessur.

The closer they get - the closer Merope gets, at least, as Kidd is deliberately trailing behind just because she was told not to - the more concerned the older mare gets. The small figure is a young colt, covered in something, blood? It is dark and rich; more than what may be normal for a birth.
Merope comes to a halt as Chessur does the same. He speaks, and she can sense something else, just as she could sense him - he isn’t telling her something. But Merope isn’t a daft mare; if he isn’t telling her something then surely he has his reasons.
She will not press.

But before she can reply, before she can do what she is programmed, as a mare, as a mother, another horse approaches. And Merope watches her with caution - perhaps this is another mare that lives here, a new recruit as it were, but the way she moves implies something else.
And Merope - never one to judge or to treat someone rudely - turns from her when she speaks, her concern still lying with the colt.
“Where did you find him?” she asks, planting one hoof in front of Kidd to stop the filly from getting too close; the colt may be hurt, may be upset.
She wonders where the colt’s mother is, but she realises that this may be what Chessur isn’t telling her. So she watches, waits, wonders what the poor boy’s story is.
She’s had a few bad things happen to her but she doesn’t know what to do, she doesn’t know what she should say; she doesn’t know if she can make this right.

MEROPE

i wasn't expecting that.

blerg >.<