This is a feeling I am not used to (Open, Kingdoms)

[Eberley]

some like beautiful, perfect and pretty,
but i see the good in the bad and the ugly.

Rain ticks against the forest floor with a calmly feel—the distant sound of drops slipping past tender leaves, breaking the wall of ebony bark and casted shadows before tumbling to a death filled with chocolate stained soil. The clouds are hung with depression and tears, mirroring the same effect of dark lights in a white room. Her coffee creamed coat is a dampened, toasted version of it’s dry self with her subtle grassy spots stained with drops of water and rubs from spoiled dirt. She looks serene, almost—lanky limbs curled beneath her maturing body and a tail a mess of wind knots and broken branches twirled in mats dragging out like a wedding veil.

Tick, tick, tick.

Hazel eyes flutter at the distant coo of a raven, ears instantaneously bursting forward in motion before swiveling like radar dishes set to high frequency. A soft exhale releases trapped air from her lungs and her stomach sinks with the motion, the relaxation in her legs cause a slight stir of fallen leaves around her to shift. Another coo before a black shadow the size of a baseball glove glides over her head with a distinctive whisk in it’s wings.

With a dismantled, irritated grunt her two front limbs stretch far beyond her to aid her body in rising. She is skinnier, you can see so in each and every rib along her side and the small hip bone that lingers beyond lusciousness along her hindquarters. Along the top of her rump reaching just beyond the center of her back and stretching as low as her gaskin is a snowy white blanket of colour decorated in her grassy dots. She is pretty, quaint, but pretty. Not old enough to be beautiful, too old to be cute. Her face is beginning to refine itself in the bones that have developed in and along her cheek bone, the way that her eyes gleam with an intensity of curiosity, and how her ears have begun to suit her frame.

Her walk—trot, arguably since her pace was never comparable to slow—has a long float that carries her elegantly—in her mind, but in reality more of a distasteful march—across the forest floor like she had done so many times before.

Eberley’s talent was not in socializing but in being content in any situation. She truly is, in a house full of sisters, the sister who spends a majority of her time listening to music and wearing her hair in long waves. Her room would be decorated in bands and music labels, her computer just a mess of homework and her book shelf filled with authors of all genres and generations. In a home full of chaos and dramatic exits, she would be the one to bake dinner and go grab a movie. Nothing deters her, nothing angers her. Her personality is as easy going as John Lennon after a rolled joint.

That is if she was human. Here, she might be an odd duckling in a very carbon-like world.

Identical.

Cloned.

Her pace slows at the break of the tree line, the soft spit of rain still tainting her coat, more so now that the thin liner of leaves don’t break the fall. A chilled breeze nips at her skin and a slight shiver trickles down her spine. The cover of the forest had clearly been taken for granted, and the new found freedom was paired with a heavy blast of reality.

So similar to life.

Part of her hesitates, feeling torn on the brink of adulthood and childhood all at once. So she stands there, stuck like a sparkle on black pants, wavering, indecisive.

Where to next?

image © Hannes Waldow

[Kreios]

kreios don't you tame your demons, but always keep them on a leash With the burgeoning population of the Falls and another set of eyes on the border, I feel confident enough to leave the Falls under Jedi’s watchful eye. It’s not been incredibly long since I have been to the Field, but I still hesitate at the edge, building up the confidence necessary to enter. It feels like only yesterday that I was just as likely to stutter to speak in a conversation, and though years have passed since the healing of my tongue, the self-doubt still emerges every now and then. A long moment passes, and the rain freckles my already pied coat. Then, with a deep breath, I step forward on silent paws, moving through the Field with a grace uncanny to a creature of my bulk. Taller in maturity than even my monstrous father, I am a hard sight to miss in the dreary autumn field. Though the majority of my coat is as pale as snow, the blood-red spatter of my mother’s spotted family is clearly prevalent. My red tail twitches as I walk, haired as a horse but flicking like a cat’s as I look across the dimly lit field with blown pupils that would never occur in an equine. It is her color that catches my eye, the spots on her coat. Only when I come closer do I see that rather than the same brown as her coat they are a grassy green. “Nice spots,” I say, unable to miss seeing the thinness of her figure. My expression is friendly, as is the smile on my pale face, and I introduce myself with a nod of my head. “I’m Kreios. What’s your name?”

[Phaedrus]

PHAEDRUS

He was the epitamy of dissapointment. Not even a queen could raise him without dissapointment.

Echos in his mind, scars punctuating each word into his ebony hide. Tangles of cobalt tufts slowly filling up the spaces of missing mane, though a few patches still remained bare. Misery, desolation, and most of all depression. He was in the habbit of finding himself wandering in the feild this last year more often then not. Searching always searching, hoping to find any soul that would offer encouragement . His own personal encouragement his eyes roll at that thought. It was completely and totally a selfish way of asking for praise. But praise for what? What had he ever done to deserve praise? Surely nothing of value.

But his chances of success were fading by the day... if there was any chance to begin with. Plodding through the feild his eyes settle on a mare with the company of a stallion. This was never a good sign. Always better to be safe then sorry. Nodding to each. Hi he grunts to he in greeting. He had tried to be the friendly easy going talkative pal that most would like. But it just wasn't in him. It wore him out and he found himself always trying to seclude and isolate himself after such encounters. I'm Phaedrus he pauses a slight distance away wary of any flicker of discomfort from her. of the Dale He adds it as an after thought.

i'll carry this flag, to the grave if i must

[Ashara]

ASHARA

The atmosphere felt smaller in weather like this with a limited field of perception. Palpable moisture dense and thick hanging in the air. The journey from home to the field wasn’t as far as many of the other kingdoms but far enough to dampen the golden coat of the loyal vixen. Her sodden auricles burned from the bitter cold while the rest of her body remained somewhat content. She wanted to keep busy this season as to avoid the questions or suggestions of breeding but that’s another story. The kingdom was growing, everyone was putting 100% into their roles and she was no different. Her loyalty to the queen matched by admiration inspired another visit to the field, but as soon as she arrived amber pools noticed the familiar red spotted king. He was hard to miss, his size standing out among the others. As she drew closer, curious of who he was speaking to and his seemingly successful technique, she recognized the second stallion. It had been a year since herself was in this place, terrified as that winged brute tried to court her. A year since she met Ygritte and joined the Falls instead. Her confidence and social skills had grown since that day, although the mystics still made her a little weary. As she approached behind him, a smirk tugged at her lips making eye contact with the dark one. “Hello Phaedrus, lovely to see you again.” her tone confident but warm. Her smirk turned to a warm smile and acknowledging nod to Kreios as she found a spot next to him. The spotted behemoth still made her uneasy, like most men, but perhaps she would grow fond of him as she did Ygritte and Jedi. The femme before her was quite attractive, albeit a little too slim, especially coming into winter. Her disarray was a welcomed site. The palomino has had the displeasuring of interacting with princesses’s of late and was rather sick of their neediness. Hello miss, I am called Ashara and I too come from the Falls.”

If you're ever gonna find a silver lining
It's gotta be a cloudy day