05-07-2016, 06:43 PM
A kiss is not a contract
Zara is genuine in her appreciation for the tender friendship that they’ve begun to grow. Besra knows these things don’t occur overnight - they take time. Like a garden, filled with fragrant beauty, their friendship would need trust and mutual respect. But this is time the silver-grey mare does not have. She only wishes it could be so, and wishes are nice to have but very, very dangerous to dwell on. “Of course we will, some time …” She mentions, letting the sentence taper off.
Zara mentions her foal. A filly, it would seem, named Josie. Besra’s smile is complete now as she imagines the little black miniature: all legs and energy and filled with that sweet, doleful gaze her mother has mastered so well. She likes the thought, wonders (briefly) how it would be to have her own miniature wandering about Golden Plains. Would she look like her? Would it even be a she? A small laugh escapes from her throat at the image, Besra shakes her head.
A noise breaks their easy silence - someone who trumpets across the plains in a manner only acceptable to a brutish thief. It’s Archam, and he’s calling for her. The blue-maned girl snaps her head up, eyes narrowing in irritation. “Stallions.” She mumbles, “His name is Archam, a rival idiot with a herdland in Cobblestone Creek. I won’t be gone long, Zara, and when I come back I look forward to meeting little Josie.” She ends, smiling once in her dark sisters direction before flicking her tail and picking up a canter to answer the bay monster’s call.
Zara mentions her foal. A filly, it would seem, named Josie. Besra’s smile is complete now as she imagines the little black miniature: all legs and energy and filled with that sweet, doleful gaze her mother has mastered so well. She likes the thought, wonders (briefly) how it would be to have her own miniature wandering about Golden Plains. Would she look like her? Would it even be a she? A small laugh escapes from her throat at the image, Besra shakes her head.
A noise breaks their easy silence - someone who trumpets across the plains in a manner only acceptable to a brutish thief. It’s Archam, and he’s calling for her. The blue-maned girl snaps her head up, eyes narrowing in irritation. “Stallions.” She mumbles, “His name is Archam, a rival idiot with a herdland in Cobblestone Creek. I won’t be gone long, Zara, and when I come back I look forward to meeting little Josie.” She ends, smiling once in her dark sisters direction before flicking her tail and picking up a canter to answer the bay monster’s call.