05-14-2022, 04:41 PM
I L I A N A
Hyaline had begun to feel too small for her. She had been quiet as a child, preferring to keep to herself, save for the companionship of her twin sister, and for a long time she had been content roaming the mountainous home she had been born into. But as she grew older, as the unmistakable need to hunt drove her further from her home each day, she found that the mountains did not call to her as they once had. She always returned, of course, though sometimes days or even weeks passed before she did. Her mother had tried to reassure her that it was fine, that she did not expect her to root herself there without first finding who she was meant to be, but there is still a certain kind of guilt that she cannot shake when she leaves.
The easiest way she has found to ease this uncomfortable feeling is to hunt, perhaps not the best coping mechanism inherited from her father, but the only one that she has.
Currently, though, she is not in her panther form. After tracking a deer along Hyaline’s eastern range she had found herself distracted by Silver Cove’s oddly colored grass and its black sand. She wasn’t too terribly familiar with this place, usually preferring mountains and forests, but she supposes there is something to be said for finding other distractions that don’t involve bloodshed.
Her mother would be proud, she is sure of it.
When her rose-gold eyes settle on the shape of the stallion in the distance she comes to a stop, angling her head in curiosity and contemplation. She thinks she has seen him before, in Hyaline, but cannot say for sure since she had so often chosen solitude over interacting. She approaches anyway, the faint sunlight catching the rose-gold rosettes that rise from the velvet-black of her skin, far more noticeable now than they had been when she was younger. It was a peculiar phenomenon, the way with every passing month the rose-gold rosettes that she sported in her panther form began to linger even on her equine coat, where they now remained permanently.
“Hello,” she greets him—and his companion, her gaze lingering on him inquisitively perhaps a heartbeat too long. “Are you lost?” She asks him, as if she has any more right to be here than he does.
The easiest way she has found to ease this uncomfortable feeling is to hunt, perhaps not the best coping mechanism inherited from her father, but the only one that she has.
Currently, though, she is not in her panther form. After tracking a deer along Hyaline’s eastern range she had found herself distracted by Silver Cove’s oddly colored grass and its black sand. She wasn’t too terribly familiar with this place, usually preferring mountains and forests, but she supposes there is something to be said for finding other distractions that don’t involve bloodshed.
Her mother would be proud, she is sure of it.
When her rose-gold eyes settle on the shape of the stallion in the distance she comes to a stop, angling her head in curiosity and contemplation. She thinks she has seen him before, in Hyaline, but cannot say for sure since she had so often chosen solitude over interacting. She approaches anyway, the faint sunlight catching the rose-gold rosettes that rise from the velvet-black of her skin, far more noticeable now than they had been when she was younger. It was a peculiar phenomenon, the way with every passing month the rose-gold rosettes that she sported in her panther form began to linger even on her equine coat, where they now remained permanently.
“Hello,” she greets him—and his companion, her gaze lingering on him inquisitively perhaps a heartbeat too long. “Are you lost?” She asks him, as if she has any more right to be here than he does.
-- the shadow is mine, and so is the valley
@
Malik