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+---- Thread: don`t fret precious, i`m here [ i s o b e l l ] (/showthread.php?tid=16519)
don`t fret precious, i`m here [ i s o b e l l ] - caym - 09-28-2017
i pad through these lands, my dinnerplate scythes plod over the fresh spring foliage. my water blue eyes scan everything before me - the expansive green grass rolling for miles ahead of me, the ceiling of azure sky that on this particular day, had no clouds hung within it. it is morning time, so there is dew collecting upon my hooves and lower legs; my lips curl into a slight grimace as it clings to me.
this land is so completely new to me. there are no scents that i call familiar, no sights i can recognize... the only element that is ascertainable is the feeling of desolation. it has been that way for at least two years for me; completely by choice. souls are confusing; i have never been one to understand the motives of others. i don't trust them. i cannot trust their emotions, as they are a fleeting promise that shapes one's future in the most complex ways.
i continue to tread forward, making a slight curve to the right around a small group of regenerating trees. my dappled coat glistens in the morning sunshine, muscles rippling underneath like rolling waves. there is now the smell of water suspended in my nares - reminding me of my thirst. i quickly lick my charcoal gray lips, pink tongue slipping through my teeth and running itself along their edges. when was the last time i'd satiated myself with water? too long, obviously. my curious blue orbs search for the body of water that i know is close, blinking in the morning sun. there are birds chirping in the distance, and with a flick of my sooty tail, i begin trotting towards their throaty calls. the dew that had already dampened the lower part of my legs begins to spray higher upon them, my tender underbelly now feeling the spray of moisture.
i almost scowl at the beauty of everything spread before me. this is not within my element - i am used to darkness, to dead trees and dying foliage and the feeling of dissolution all around me. it felt much more like home than this. how i've found myself in a land that holds such visual allure is beyond me; i simply started walking from my original homelands until the stench of sulfur no longer burned the inside of my nostrils and throat. and from what i can scent out, there is not a trace of degeneracy lingering in the air. yet. i've only just arrived, and if i know anything, it is that carnage has a knack for succeeding me wherever i roam.
down towards the water's edge my muzzle lowers, gray lips tracing the surface. its temperature is cold and utterly refreshing, so i begin to drink heartily. it satiates the dryness that is my throat and tongue, and i inhale deeply, blue orbs momentarily closing in satisfaction. i often can't deny myself indulging in physical nourishment as where i was birthed, this type of indulgence was far and inbetween. "belched from the bowels of hell," is what my grand-sire would say.
with that thought, i raise my large skull and chuckle.
well, look at me now, pop.
caym
forget your god
RE: don`t fret precious, i`m here [ i s o b e l l ] - Isobell - 10-02-2017
isobell
It was hard to not notice the grey mountain of a horse. He is a tall stallion, leggy and wild eyed as he walks with a slight hitch thought it is not of injury. Perhaps his demeanor? Isobell is not well versed in the art of talking with strange men so she is quiet as she watches from her small plot of earth, the tender bits of grass still caught between her unmarked lips.
She is a young mare, black and white painted, much like her mother and she is not sure why she is in the field. She is not homeless but in fact a princess of Nerine, daughter to the dragon warrior and the iron queen. Perhaps she wanted some change. Perhaps she wanted to find someone different. Any way it was sliced, the pretty mare decides to approach the lone man.
His skin is slick and tight over his bones. She can catch a few glimpses of startling blue eyes that rove and jostle with an uncertainty that she has never known. The mare is immortal and therefore bold. She holds her delicately made head high, the wisp of summer breeze catching and lifting the long locks of her mane and tail. She doesn't hide herself behind invisible shield. She does not dance between raindrops and flower petals. The young mare moves towards him, eyeing the dribble of water on his chin and the hunger in his eyes. She attempts a nod in greeting but watching him closely through the silk of her white forelock.
"Hello." Her voice is softer than her exterior but the inflection is low so she remains steady with her syllables, the word enunciated with perfect execution. "Welcome to Beqanna. I'm Isobell of Nerine." She finishes her statement while holding his form with her silver eyes. "What's your name?" She inquires with a single ear politely offered to him, her delicate form standing solid under the warmth of the summer sky, waiting for his reply.
She is a young mare, black and white painted, much like her mother and she is not sure why she is in the field. She is not homeless but in fact a princess of Nerine, daughter to the dragon warrior and the iron queen. Perhaps she wanted some change. Perhaps she wanted to find someone different. Any way it was sliced, the pretty mare decides to approach the lone man.
His skin is slick and tight over his bones. She can catch a few glimpses of startling blue eyes that rove and jostle with an uncertainty that she has never known. The mare is immortal and therefore bold. She holds her delicately made head high, the wisp of summer breeze catching and lifting the long locks of her mane and tail. She doesn't hide herself behind invisible shield. She does not dance between raindrops and flower petals. The young mare moves towards him, eyeing the dribble of water on his chin and the hunger in his eyes. She attempts a nod in greeting but watching him closely through the silk of her white forelock.
"Hello." Her voice is softer than her exterior but the inflection is low so she remains steady with her syllables, the word enunciated with perfect execution. "Welcome to Beqanna. I'm Isobell of Nerine." She finishes her statement while holding his form with her silver eyes. "What's your name?" She inquires with a single ear politely offered to him, her delicate form standing solid under the warmth of the summer sky, waiting for his reply.
i'll wait for you inside the bottom of the deep blue sea
RE: don`t fret precious, i`m here [ i s o b e l l ] - caym - 10-08-2017
[ w i p ]
caym
forget your god