01-19-2016, 04:49 PM
Riva remembers feeling cold once, but hate is a coal stoked carefully and it warms her until she is practically giddy from the heat of it. She promised to never feel cold and alone ever again, and her hatred is her best company - burning and strong. Her nostrils flare at the scent of a stallion; he joins them, naturally. The paint mare eyes him; sizes up his large draft-built body, the cobalt blue of his mane and tail (like almost-night, she thinks, not quite enchanted because Riva is beyond the age of enchantment but she likes the possibility of his nightswept color), and the wings that flutter carelessly at his side. She is intrigued as to why he simply walked amongst them rather than flew, thinking he would have caused a greater stir if he had landed mightily amongst them but she supposed he had his reasons and she hardly thought about it all that much - he had wings, so what? Half of the horses here did, it hardly surprised her though she could not say she had ever met one with wings. His humor is dry though but she bites back a laugh all the same, not much for giving satisfaction to others. “Riva,” she answers him, “Of nowhere yet.” a sly look to the Amazon queen because there is strong consideration for the mare there, even if she has not yet made an offer to the paint, Riva is still considering the benefits of joining the Amazons. Then again… she looks to Phaedrus and considers him again, his night-dark skin and evening mane make such a lovely pair but even she is not easily swayed by his coloring. More like she is thinking of the foals they’d make - lovely paint things with wings and dark thoughts, because Riva always considers her options for revenge and sometimes, it is a dish best served cold, like a little army of flying Amazon-trained babies that could undo her family’s superior lineage and history with their mischief and madness. Riva gives a shake of her head, sometimes, her thoughts are rather ridiculous and since when does she give a hoot about breeding?
|