[open] come on skinny love just last the year - Printable Version +- Beqanna (https://beqanna.com/forum) +-- Forum: OOC (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=24) +--- Forum: Archive (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=81) +---- Forum: Field (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=2) +---- Thread: [open] come on skinny love just last the year (/showthread.php?tid=11064) |
come on skinny love just last the year - spindlewinter - 09-04-2016 come on in, we haven't slept for weeks; drink some of this, it'll put colour in your cheeks A weak spring sunbeam filters down through the leaves, which shuffle and rearrange themselves in the slight breeze. Moisture condenses and rolls, bead-like, to the lowest twist of a twig before dropping onto the horse’s back below. It makes the softest sound as it lands on the dappled coat, absorbed instantly into a dark spot, blending with the other grey circles and stars. Her steely coat marks out her youth, a fact she is vaguely self-conscious about, but for the moment no-one is close enough in the dawn light to bring such a feeling to mind. The light came first, early, the day eager to rush ahead towards the summer – but it did not bring any warmth with it, not for the first few hours. She blinks slowly as she wakes up cold and damp, shaking her low head and feeling another few droplets roll from her mane. Outside of the trees which had sheltered her the night before there is that starting sunlight and she stretches gently, raising her head towards it. Grass, pale but good, whilst under the copse there is scuffed dirt from the tread of hundreds of hooves; her sleeping place has been popular with the droves of homeless horses seeking a new start in the Field. She remembers dimly the warmth and care of childhood awakenings, her mother’s side and the tall bodies of others around her – but she is grown now, taller than most, graceful enough in her movements in a way that her bulky frame does not imply. She slips forwards now out of the gently waving boughs and dripping water, between the trees and dewy cobwebs into the open meadow. Other early risers are congregated around the margins and she briefly considers – or tries to consider – approaching one of the nearer groups. But her confidence fails her and she lowers her head to crop the young grass in short, quick movements. She is like an empty page with a pen poised over it ready to write; with her few years, she doesn’t know what she hopes to achieve from coming here. A friend, perhaps, or a home? She hasn’t given it enough thought and this realisation startles her, driving her to graze more determinedly for a second as though this would give her purpose. The frightening thing is how vulnerable this makes her – to think that someone else here might suspect her future, or know what she is good for, when she herself does not. In limbo, not knowing, she waits and eats and glances as the sun crawls into the sky and dries off the morning dew. A part of her wants to return to her hiding place and stay, looking out, without anyone looking in – but the trees are behind her now, and the future waits in front. Spindlewinter RE: come on skinny love just last the year - magnus - 09-04-2016 — find what you love and let it kill you — magnus RE: come on skinny love just last the year - M + S + S + W - 09-04-2016
They are an incredibly awkward combination. They very nearly repel everyone surrounding them – both for their ultimate closeness and their repulsing behaviors. Malfunction takes the lead, being the eldest and least impaired of the group. Aside from lack of color in the world and random seizures (though they always happen during thunderstorms), he is relatively normal. Most would see him as the backbone of their little bundle, although they are all hazardously tossed together. They are all the same color – that eerily familiar silver bay of their sire – and it makes them look even more abnormal then they already are. MALFUNCTION, SKID, SMEAR, & WOUNDhover over names
RE: come on skinny love just last the year - spindlewinter - 09-07-2016 come on in, we haven't slept for weeks; drink some of this, it'll put colour in your cheeks The fog is losing its battle with the sunlight as she grazes, slinking away as if it knows the warmth and light will only grow in strength from now on. When it returns at dusk the grey mare will be gone and it is reluctant to give her up yet. It does all the same, drifting first to strongholds in hollows and shadows before being forced to flee completely. She begins now to relax, the gentle heat on her back a calming influence, until finally her consciousness blends into the field around her and she is just another part of the picture, a detail of the wider scene added by an unconcerned artist. Such is her state of mind when the stallion approaches that she only realises his presence when he is close enough to begin speaking. The sound focusses her again, bringing her back to the present with a sudden dart towards anxiety. But his voice is a pleasant one and his greeting friendly: her full-tilt approach towards alarm is steadied, hovering at slight apprehension. She notices his smile, uneven but with a suggestion at honesty. “I’m well, tha-“ she begins, the nerves making her sound formal in a way that she instantly begins to feel conscious of. Her thanks go incomplete, however, as she looks over his shoulder at the approaching quartet. Their progress is slow and that self-reflective part of her insists that staring is rude, but she finds she cannot help herself. They match and they do not, silvery in appearance and yet uneven in every other respect. Two of the tall ones and the little one move awkwardly, impaired by malformed limbs; she cannot see the saliva or the blood on the baby’s shoulder but some instinctive part of her smells it, senses the disease and the difficulty. Questions replace the nerves, the anxiousness, the introspection – she wants to know why the little one is so small, how the four came together, what vengeful god they angered – and then they are close enough to see properly, to inspect. She cannot help herself but move forwards when she realises the middle child is just that – not dwarfed or impaired in growth (although her leg – Winter ducks her nose now that she is close to blow and sniff at that strange short leg, as if she can suss it out with a simple closer look) but a foal. She gives no though to whether the others will stop her, despite their defensive formation around the filly. On some instinct awakened she moves in, hearing from behind her their leader’s question. “Excuse me... Do you know where we might find a safe place?” The sound stirs her once again and she turns her head, the rest of her reluctant to shift attention from the child. For a moment she stares because she does not know the answer – to his question, or the insurmountable problems the four must face. “No,” she says at length, and an idea strikes her. “But he might. He – I’m new, but maybe he knows?” And her eyes turn to Magnus imploringly, in the hope that he can help her to help these strange children. Spindlewinter RE: come on skinny love just last the year - magnus - 09-11-2016 — find what you love and let it kill you — magnus RE: come on skinny love just last the year - M + S + S + W - 09-13-2016 They’ve felt the stares before (the piercing, ripping sensation of eyes turning upon their misshapen bodies) and they decide to stare right back. For years they have turned their eyes down, away from the open mouths and unabashed surprise, but with the awakening of Beqanna come the awakening of themselves. So they keep their heads upright (all of them except for the tired, cold filly in the midst of their warmth and protection) and their eyes snatch onto the ones who stare. They dare them to say something, to retort about their slow movement or their drool freezing on their lips or their lumped skin. MALFUNCTION, SKID, SMEAR, & WOUNDhover over names
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