05-05-2016, 06:29 PM
She'd given up on determining what she was going to do with herself for the time being and succumbed to just simply being a wanderer. She was immortal after all and there wasn't anything she could do now that she couldn't do later. And so, here she finds herself wandering lazily in and out of the Meadow. She had spent the last several weeks poking around the nearby forest, but had done little else. Sometimes her thoughts while she wandered slipped back towards her past. There had been many happy moments in her life (many of them involved the Jungle she used to call home), but there had been some horrors there as well. Her capture by the Chamber where she was subsequently beaten, raped and nearly starved to death topped the top of her list and the next down was watching her father be murdered by a strange stallion. It was her own father's death that had granted her immortality, so she more than anybody should realize that immortality means little in this land.
For the first time in years, she's been a horse for more than a small handful of hours. She much preferred her solitary life as a quetzal. It allowed her to eavesdrop on small conversations here and there while, for the most part, blending in with the scenery. But being homeless meant she had little interactions with others and absolutely no friends - a life she did not want to live at all.
As she walks, her eyes are drawn to a bright white stallion with golden points. It really wasn't his color that pulled him apart from the others, for there were hundreds of strangely colored creatures living in Beqanna, but something about his demeanor attracted the paint mare. Her tail flicks hesitantly across her legs before she starts towards him, coming to a stop a few feet away and offering a gentle nicker of greeting before closing the gap between them.
"Greetings. Name's Malka," she said with a soft bob of her head. She doesn't say anything else for she's not really sure what else to offer. She had no homeland anymore and no fancy titles to go after her name. She was just simply "Malka" now. It was a strange thing to finally put into context, but it was a fact of her new life and until she did something about it, it wasn't going to change.
For the first time in years, she's been a horse for more than a small handful of hours. She much preferred her solitary life as a quetzal. It allowed her to eavesdrop on small conversations here and there while, for the most part, blending in with the scenery. But being homeless meant she had little interactions with others and absolutely no friends - a life she did not want to live at all.
As she walks, her eyes are drawn to a bright white stallion with golden points. It really wasn't his color that pulled him apart from the others, for there were hundreds of strangely colored creatures living in Beqanna, but something about his demeanor attracted the paint mare. Her tail flicks hesitantly across her legs before she starts towards him, coming to a stop a few feet away and offering a gentle nicker of greeting before closing the gap between them.
"Greetings. Name's Malka," she said with a soft bob of her head. She doesn't say anything else for she's not really sure what else to offer. She had no homeland anymore and no fancy titles to go after her name. She was just simply "Malka" now. It was a strange thing to finally put into context, but it was a fact of her new life and until she did something about it, it wasn't going to change.
Malka
Immortal, Quetzal-shifting
Mare of nowhere
Mare of nowhere
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