07-05-2021, 08:23 PM
Djuna
the would-be queen
The mid-year warmth has come and gone from Beqanna, a deeper chill settling in its absence. The night is quiet now, a stark contrast to the cacophony of crickets and frogs that had filled the air just weeks ago.
Djuna's taken up shelter beneath a tall oak that grows from the grassy banks near it the river's yawning mouth, watching the last bits of silvery light of the moon reflect off the burbling water. The sun will be rising soon, she can see the very first hints of light inkling against the horizon, and she knows she should try to rest. Yet sleep eludes her, as it has most nights since she stepped hoof in this place. Where once she'd slumbered peacefully, now she resigns herself to simply...wait. For the light ― for safety. Only in the mornings can she doze properly, those few hours her only tenuous connection to sanity, the only thin wall separating her from what she's sure must be madness.
Because honestly, screw this place. This place had nothing to offer but poor luck and even poorer choices.
Djuna's acidic inner monologue is broken by the distinct sound of hooves against packed dirt ― someone coming down the trail. She blinks herself back into reality, stomach turning slightly. She's in no mood to chat with wanderers or grifters, but turns her head anyways out of what she likes to think is some deep-seated sense of politeness, but is more likely to be a sense of self preservation, of wariness.
A ghost-like figure materializes from around the bend, a lonesome stallion ambling up the path. He pauses when he sees her, and Djuna has to stop herself from tensing under the vivid blue of his gaze. The rakish smile that curls at his lips does little to ease the anxious machinations of her over-tired mind, but she forces herself to return it with an amiable half-smile of her own. 'Relax. He's probably harmless.'
"Oh, you did?" Is her simple reply. Her gaze drifts upwards, trying to imagine him with horns like her own ― graceful in the way they'd curve away from his skull. It suits him, this mental image she conjures up, though she's sure her imagination would never suffice to do the real ones justice. After a moment she levels her eyes towards his again, a question forming in her mind and on her tongue: "What happened to them?"
Djuna's taken up shelter beneath a tall oak that grows from the grassy banks near it the river's yawning mouth, watching the last bits of silvery light of the moon reflect off the burbling water. The sun will be rising soon, she can see the very first hints of light inkling against the horizon, and she knows she should try to rest. Yet sleep eludes her, as it has most nights since she stepped hoof in this place. Where once she'd slumbered peacefully, now she resigns herself to simply...wait. For the light ― for safety. Only in the mornings can she doze properly, those few hours her only tenuous connection to sanity, the only thin wall separating her from what she's sure must be madness.
Because honestly, screw this place. This place had nothing to offer but poor luck and even poorer choices.
Djuna's acidic inner monologue is broken by the distinct sound of hooves against packed dirt ― someone coming down the trail. She blinks herself back into reality, stomach turning slightly. She's in no mood to chat with wanderers or grifters, but turns her head anyways out of what she likes to think is some deep-seated sense of politeness, but is more likely to be a sense of self preservation, of wariness.
A ghost-like figure materializes from around the bend, a lonesome stallion ambling up the path. He pauses when he sees her, and Djuna has to stop herself from tensing under the vivid blue of his gaze. The rakish smile that curls at his lips does little to ease the anxious machinations of her over-tired mind, but she forces herself to return it with an amiable half-smile of her own. 'Relax. He's probably harmless.'
"Oh, you did?" Is her simple reply. Her gaze drifts upwards, trying to imagine him with horns like her own ― graceful in the way they'd curve away from his skull. It suits him, this mental image she conjures up, though she's sure her imagination would never suffice to do the real ones justice. After a moment she levels her eyes towards his again, a question forming in her mind and on her tongue: "What happened to them?"
@
Gale sorry for the wait asdfjlk