04-19-2021, 08:39 PM
Moira has lost her mother and sister in the ice maze.
She emerges - her breath making quick puffs in the crisp summer air - and snorts gleefully. Kicking up her finned heels for a moment, Moira enjoys the sensation of freedom. She had extra promised to stick close to Aquaria in the maze, but at the seventh possible opportunity (she needed to make sure Mom had let her guard down), the grulla filly had ducked to the left rather than the right, taking advantage of two sharp turn and the distance that she had slowly allowed to grow between herself and her family.
The Midsummer Festival has been idealized by the young nereid ever since they’d first received the invitation. Eager for adventure, Moira had started pleading before her mother had even indicated an answer of her own, and she had been elated to arrive. Their swim had not been terribly long, and the girl has plenty of energy left.
She looks in every direction, trying to decide where to head first. Being almost a year and a half-old, Moira thinks she might be big enough to win some of the Highland Games occurring, so she heads toward them, the long fins of her mane and tail bright and glittering beneath the sun, a clear indication of her nereid heritage (as if the almost-eerie beauty, scales, and her physical similarity to her mother were not enough).
Once there, she decides that perhaps she’s not grown after all, and contents herself to watch a trio of stallions and a pale mare competing against each other for a while. Then she grows bored (a common occurrence, for her love of adventure is so expansive it leaves little room for a long attention span), and begins to wander toward the flaming tree that she’s heard some of the other horses talking about, stopping only when something catches her attention.
She emerges - her breath making quick puffs in the crisp summer air - and snorts gleefully. Kicking up her finned heels for a moment, Moira enjoys the sensation of freedom. She had extra promised to stick close to Aquaria in the maze, but at the seventh possible opportunity (she needed to make sure Mom had let her guard down), the grulla filly had ducked to the left rather than the right, taking advantage of two sharp turn and the distance that she had slowly allowed to grow between herself and her family.
The Midsummer Festival has been idealized by the young nereid ever since they’d first received the invitation. Eager for adventure, Moira had started pleading before her mother had even indicated an answer of her own, and she had been elated to arrive. Their swim had not been terribly long, and the girl has plenty of energy left.
She looks in every direction, trying to decide where to head first. Being almost a year and a half-old, Moira thinks she might be big enough to win some of the Highland Games occurring, so she heads toward them, the long fins of her mane and tail bright and glittering beneath the sun, a clear indication of her nereid heritage (as if the almost-eerie beauty, scales, and her physical similarity to her mother were not enough).
Once there, she decides that perhaps she’s not grown after all, and contents herself to watch a trio of stallions and a pale mare competing against each other for a while. Then she grows bored (a common occurrence, for her love of adventure is so expansive it leaves little room for a long attention span), and begins to wander toward the flaming tree that she’s heard some of the other horses talking about, stopping only when something catches her attention.