Open carry me on a whim, any - Printable Version

She was born in the pitch black on this very red soil she’s standing on now. Pangea. The little voice whispers in her mind, not in her ears, but her mind. She smiles, for whatever reason, warmed by her own quiet return. No one cares, nor should they; she is unknown to any living being walking across the canyons now…but the land remembers her.

With a burst of energy she leaps into a canter from a calm walk, picking up speed to race across the flat terrain between towering canyon walks. Her hooves echo down the chambers, kicking her heels as she gallops through the redrock maze. When she finally slides to a stop she’s at the riverside, cold, sweet water rushing over smoothed stones. Her peculiar coat, pale and patched with reptilian piebald markings, a mixture of grays, blacks and golden browns.

Panting, but relieved, she bends to drink and walks ankle deep into the flowing water. Her onyx hair dipping gracefully into the current, tugging softly as she wades deeper.

She’s not sure why she felt like coming here, but it feels nice.