12-10-2015, 12:51 PM
The mountains seem to have their own gravitational pull, for she orbits them like the moon does the planet. The pines whisper against the mist with a wet rasp, like dying lungs. This is her birthplace - here nestled beneath the Chamber’s beating heart. Sometimes she finds her mother here. Sometimes she finds solitude. As of late the mountains have been quiet.
She rests beneath the evergreens, where she and her mother once weathered the cold of winter. She knows this land as if it were a part of her. She had grown up here; simple, sheltered, safe. She had not known at the time that her mother had been waiting for someone. She did not know the scent that once permeated the trees was that of her sire. She only knew that it existed, along with the scent of pine, and the feel of mountain mist. Not much has changed, save the scents of different stallions that have tried to lay claim to the land. In all of her lingering here, Liselle has yet to meet anyone other than her mother, and her twin siblings.
She is no longer slight and willowy as she had been in her youth. Her heritage is muddled with heavy draft, and feral mustang. She bears little refinement, built more for power than for speed. Yet, it is impossible to see Liselle as anything but a kind soul. She comes from the blood of war, the blood of anger, the blood of hatred, but she does not know it. All Liselle knows are the mountains, the pines, and the hum of her mother’s lullabies.
She hums them now, soft and gentle against the hoarse whisper of the conifers.
@[Zayn]
She rests beneath the evergreens, where she and her mother once weathered the cold of winter. She knows this land as if it were a part of her. She had grown up here; simple, sheltered, safe. She had not known at the time that her mother had been waiting for someone. She did not know the scent that once permeated the trees was that of her sire. She only knew that it existed, along with the scent of pine, and the feel of mountain mist. Not much has changed, save the scents of different stallions that have tried to lay claim to the land. In all of her lingering here, Liselle has yet to meet anyone other than her mother, and her twin siblings.
She is no longer slight and willowy as she had been in her youth. Her heritage is muddled with heavy draft, and feral mustang. She bears little refinement, built more for power than for speed. Yet, it is impossible to see Liselle as anything but a kind soul. She comes from the blood of war, the blood of anger, the blood of hatred, but she does not know it. All Liselle knows are the mountains, the pines, and the hum of her mother’s lullabies.
She hums them now, soft and gentle against the hoarse whisper of the conifers.
@[Zayn]