07-05-2016, 11:52 AM
Riva has been more than a little remiss in her duties as an Amazon.
Recruitment is perhaps the most important of these and she harbors the faintest little desire to make an impression upon her queen, whom has taken quite the interest in the bay tovero mare for some reason or other that Riva has yet to fathom. Frankly, she is not that interesting or crafted entirely well: she is too thin, too angular, all sharp and severe, and entirely way too bitter to allow anything but that bitterness to consume her. It is both her fuel and her fire, the impetus for her being, but now she has new purpose - to serve Lagertha’s wishes and that is to make the Jungle thrive like it always does. Hence the paint’s appearance here now, in the field of all places, and she finds it as irksome as ever.
She knows what banishment is like though, or rather, abandonment. They are sisters to one another, this casting out or leaving behind of things like foals, and rather carelessly, she thinks. It still rides her to this day, a demon on her back, scratching her skin until it gets soul-deep and twines itself like a vicious vine around her heart. Every thorn-prick of memory is a constant reminder that the Dale’s own had abandoned her and she will never forgive them for sitting on their high thrones so deeply enamored of their great love story that they forgot about one little family member. Their attempts at inclusion had been pathetic at best and she scorned them ever since, until Lagertha found her, already a mare shaped by her bitter passions and pursuits, and decided to put them to use for the Jungle’s own machinations. Now, she is driven by something other than that bitterness and it causes her to turn her eyes to this day’s crop of home-hungry horses.
Of immediate interest is the mint-brindled bay mare, and Riva could not say why (sister Banishment whispers to sister Abandonment of their similarities) but she is drawn to her for some reason. The paint mare sizes her up, likes the measure of her quiet wait and decides to approach her but is beaten to it by a familiar face - him, again! He was ever the bane of her existence, though she has long since deserted his herd and turned her full attention to the Jungle. It wasn’t like he ever seemed to care or sought her out either, she tells herself.
“Of course she is looking for a home,” she snaps as she joins them, efficient in her pace and her halt, squared up like a proper show pony if Riva had ever known what such a thing was. She throws him a sidelong glance then focuses her gaze upon the young mare and offers her a wry grin, “I’m Riva, also here to make an offer on the home front.” The tovero doesn’t stand too close to Phaedrus, but her stance suggests that she is familiar with him and finds him harmless, will he notice that she smells more like the Jungle now and less like his Plains? He probably couldn’t care less anyway, and she keeps her eyes on the mint-brindle; “I come from the Jungle by the way,” and she is entirely too blunt, since being tactful was never her strong suit - ever.
Recruitment is perhaps the most important of these and she harbors the faintest little desire to make an impression upon her queen, whom has taken quite the interest in the bay tovero mare for some reason or other that Riva has yet to fathom. Frankly, she is not that interesting or crafted entirely well: she is too thin, too angular, all sharp and severe, and entirely way too bitter to allow anything but that bitterness to consume her. It is both her fuel and her fire, the impetus for her being, but now she has new purpose - to serve Lagertha’s wishes and that is to make the Jungle thrive like it always does. Hence the paint’s appearance here now, in the field of all places, and she finds it as irksome as ever.
She knows what banishment is like though, or rather, abandonment. They are sisters to one another, this casting out or leaving behind of things like foals, and rather carelessly, she thinks. It still rides her to this day, a demon on her back, scratching her skin until it gets soul-deep and twines itself like a vicious vine around her heart. Every thorn-prick of memory is a constant reminder that the Dale’s own had abandoned her and she will never forgive them for sitting on their high thrones so deeply enamored of their great love story that they forgot about one little family member. Their attempts at inclusion had been pathetic at best and she scorned them ever since, until Lagertha found her, already a mare shaped by her bitter passions and pursuits, and decided to put them to use for the Jungle’s own machinations. Now, she is driven by something other than that bitterness and it causes her to turn her eyes to this day’s crop of home-hungry horses.
Of immediate interest is the mint-brindled bay mare, and Riva could not say why (sister Banishment whispers to sister Abandonment of their similarities) but she is drawn to her for some reason. The paint mare sizes her up, likes the measure of her quiet wait and decides to approach her but is beaten to it by a familiar face - him, again! He was ever the bane of her existence, though she has long since deserted his herd and turned her full attention to the Jungle. It wasn’t like he ever seemed to care or sought her out either, she tells herself.
“Of course she is looking for a home,” she snaps as she joins them, efficient in her pace and her halt, squared up like a proper show pony if Riva had ever known what such a thing was. She throws him a sidelong glance then focuses her gaze upon the young mare and offers her a wry grin, “I’m Riva, also here to make an offer on the home front.” The tovero doesn’t stand too close to Phaedrus, but her stance suggests that she is familiar with him and finds him harmless, will he notice that she smells more like the Jungle now and less like his Plains? He probably couldn’t care less anyway, and she keeps her eyes on the mint-brindle; “I come from the Jungle by the way,” and she is entirely too blunt, since being tactful was never her strong suit - ever.