Squeeze me, I Dare You [Iris, Eight]

[Juice]

Juice is a creature of habit so, when Sylva disappeared, the reclusive bronc sought shelter in the Forest. He prefers the company of the darkness and, the conversations between the birches and elms. He, occasionally, made an appearance on the River's grassy bank; however, he likes being lost amongst the maze of tree trunks.

His winter coat, a muted cocoa hue, has mostly shed to give way to his summer shade of cinnamon. In stark contrast, half of his face, his underside, and all four limbs are white. He has matured out of his lanky adolescence into a lean, athletic build, much like that of a Thoroughbred. Juice lurks in the shadow of a large Elm while his dark orbs survey the dimly lit space around him. Today, the male is tucked deep into the crevices of the Forest.

Unbeknownst to Juice, his sire dwells in an adjacent section of the common land, around the same time. The young steed has no interest in getting to know his father. As far as Juice is concerned, his father abandoned him, his twin sister, and his mother. He wonders, briefly, where Jager and Lavendel are these days. Though, so much time has passed that he quickly brings his thoughts back to the present. His olfactory system filters through the damp, musk of the Forest while his small, black eyes rapidly dart about beneath his matted forelock. He stands neither on-edge, nor at-ease. He is merely an extension of the trunk to his left, listening fully to the surrounding scene.

@ Iris @Eight

[Iris]

all things are poisons

for there is nothing without poisonous qualities.

Iris has never met her father, but unlike so many she does not particularly care. Her mother had told her enough about her father. Weed, a man who came and went like a wraith, was everything Iris would have wanted in a father. Ruthless and cool, capable of growing a forest around him but far more likely to wither the ones that existed instead. Truly, if any man caught the attention of her mother, then Iris imagined he must indeed have been something special. He gave Iris life, and she needs nothing else from him. Should she meet him one day there would be no hard feelings, though she would be curious to meet him, to see if he lived up the tales inside her head. Perhaps it is better if she never gets to know him at all. Never meet your heroes, they say. It only leads to disappointment.

Today Iris finds herself in the forest. Why, exactly, she does not know. The shared forest of Beqanna feels like a far cry from the forest of the Chamber, which feels more like home to her than she might have thought possible. Her blood runs thick with Chamber history though, and she feels as if the land belongs to her and she to it. Perhaps she does, finally, understand what drove her mother to try and resurrect it.

If not for a change of scenery, perhaps simply because the Chamber is quiet, and there are other souls to find in Beqanna. Today the ghosts are somewhat quiet, noting nothing of particular interest as the nearly all-black mare winds through the shadowed woods. Eventually one of the ghosts chitters in her ear about a boy like a tree not too far away. The voice is amused, giggling at how he stands like he might be trying to grow roots.

Iris grins at no one, though the ghost knows it is in response, and she turns her course to indeed find a young stallion standing beside a tree simply…watching? It was hard to be sure just exactly what he was trying to do. “If you stand there much longer, the ghosts of this forest are going to start taking bets on how long until you turn into a tree. Is that your goal?” Her voice is mildly amused, though still it’s usual deep purr, not entirely unlike her mother’s. They share many things, though most are not particularly visible. Nothing but the eyes, anyway.

it is only the dose that matters

iris

photo by cottonbro

@ Juice