07-13-2016, 08:44 PM
There's nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline,
no matter how many times it's sent away.
no matter how many times it's sent away.
Nearly three years had passed since she had set hoof wthin the natural borders of the Gates. With her good eye, she can see where once the ancient tree had stood in it's glory, where her mother had brought her, where she had met her sister. With her good eye, she can see traces of horses that were long gone. With her good eye, she can see the way the vultures seem to roost in the remaining trees and how they stare at her hungrily.
The well formed limbs are bringing the cinnamon body further into the Gates despite the well of worry that hammers her heart inside it's iron cage. The scent of Mast is long gone as is Topsail's. There are so few traces of equines that Seastory fears the kingdom is abandoned. She is not naive enough to go calling and attracting who may be squatting in the compound of once flourishing glory but instead goes searching.
The mare seems to trace the old beaten paths from horses long dead, tracking. Hours pass before the sun begins to grown fat and lazy in the west when she catches the scent of others. Her movements quicken as the sign of life perks her and she decides to find the source of who she has captured with her senses. Blessedly it is a short walk before the other comes within her sight and a small nicker is offered, subtle and low, to draw the attention to her. Her first instinct is to size the other up then to proceed with her introduction. "Hello there. I'm Seastory, is this still the Gates?"
The well formed limbs are bringing the cinnamon body further into the Gates despite the well of worry that hammers her heart inside it's iron cage. The scent of Mast is long gone as is Topsail's. There are so few traces of equines that Seastory fears the kingdom is abandoned. She is not naive enough to go calling and attracting who may be squatting in the compound of once flourishing glory but instead goes searching.
The mare seems to trace the old beaten paths from horses long dead, tracking. Hours pass before the sun begins to grown fat and lazy in the west when she catches the scent of others. Her movements quicken as the sign of life perks her and she decides to find the source of who she has captured with her senses. Blessedly it is a short walk before the other comes within her sight and a small nicker is offered, subtle and low, to draw the attention to her. Her first instinct is to size the other up then to proceed with her introduction. "Hello there. I'm Seastory, is this still the Gates?"
SEASTORY