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  • Beqanna

    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


    Anyone;
    #1
    An old soul with young eyes, a vintage heart, and a beautiful mind


    Gone is the Loessian wall, far behind her past the forest. Cyprin glances over her back, watching to see if she is pursued, but there is nothing except the soft rustling of a nearby squirrel. Slowly, tethers of her magic sink into the soil and give life to a young tree. There’s a pause as she waits for confirmation of life before quietly whispering, ”Am I being followed?” It cannot see, this tree, but it shifts back and forth indicating no. Without friends, Cyprin has taken to the world around her and given life to everything that is otherwise unmoving. There are rocks that she lifted from the shadows and cacti that she made aware enough to fend off birds and rodents. Everything provides her entertainment and solace, but it is always temporary, always fleeting. Boredom always sinks down into her bones when silence greets her secretive confessions.

    There was Meraxes at one point, but other than that, she has only had her family to pass the time.

    On the cusp of adulthood, it was time she finally escaped the arms of her home to explore.

    Past the densely wooded forest, Cyprin finally reaches the open meadow where she can see much farther, especially when she crests a small knoll. From this vantage point, she sees the mingling knots of horses, each of them settling into company like they’ve known each other for years. Hesitant and uncertain, she roots herself and darts her eyes back and forth. Anxiousness bleeds into her thoughts, and so to distract herself, she weaves tendrils of life into a small rock. It tumbles around her feet then leans against her muzzle as she lowers it to graze. 


    Cyprin
    lior and nayl

    picture by Jiamin Zhu on pinterest
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