07-17-2016, 10:25 PM
PHAEDRUS
The left side of his hide is riddled with scars, like a spiked grate had punctured through the skin leaving holes in their wake, which in a sense had been precisely what had happened. Now, after he had forced the other horse to surrender in this last battle, he unfurled himself and found several more wounds that would end up being scars as well. Currently the new ones were still fresh and just beginning to scab over. Teeth marks in his withers, small pieces of flesh ripped from his ribs, and blood staining his left cannon where a hoof had scrapped the skin off. Still kingdom life had to keep moving regardless, thus he begins where he had left off. The field was as good as a place as any.
His wings provide temporal relief to the aching muscles. The blue and black stallion uses them to move from the Plains to the field. When he finally does arrive the grasses are hued with pinks and oranges from the waning sun. They sway and rustle their welcome, and he scans the nearby clusters for any group that seemed to have an opening. Interrupting, or simply staring both made him feel awkward. So be begins to move, gritting his teeth from the sore exhaustion that he is feeling from the recent events. After several minutes of wandering he spots two mares, he sighs deeply. Firstly, because he found a group he could slip into easily, and secondly because once again he was embarrassed to be the only male in the female company. How he always manages this, he could never tell you. But life is life and likes to throw things in one’s way just to be entertained.
He delicately folds his wings avoiding the fresh wounds, and draping the feathers over the others gently. His hide still clung to the scents of death, sweat, and blood that laid as a heavy mist on the Plains. His mane sticky and tangled clung to his skin. His tail feathered out and around his ankles, wrapping themselves around them while the real feathering draped over his hooves full of dirt clods and the blood of others as well as the dried trickle of his own. He nods to the ladies, his breathing still a little heavier than normal. After the mare replied to the others question that he had just overheard, its only then that he makes an effort to introduce himself.I’m Phaedrus, of the Dale and Golden Plains. He then offers a slight smirk and continues answering her question as well. I’m here to recruit, what about you? He stops then, lately it seemed that he was needing to talk more and more.
In fact that was exactly what he was on his way to do… again. By nature he was a quiet loner who brooded over all the things that he should have done differently, and made every effort to chide himself on all the things that he did do, right or wrong, it didn’t really matter. If she wanted somewhere that she could disappear when she needed to, the Dale, or the herd… possibly both, would be perfect for her. He would know, because yearly he managed to do the same thing. Even with how busy he would get in other times of the year. Its then that he realizes that he was doing it again, brooding that is. So he shakes out his mane and attempts to focus on the company around him rather than listlessly meandering from one tree to the next, or the horizon, even the grasses would occasionally snag his attention.
His wings provide temporal relief to the aching muscles. The blue and black stallion uses them to move from the Plains to the field. When he finally does arrive the grasses are hued with pinks and oranges from the waning sun. They sway and rustle their welcome, and he scans the nearby clusters for any group that seemed to have an opening. Interrupting, or simply staring both made him feel awkward. So be begins to move, gritting his teeth from the sore exhaustion that he is feeling from the recent events. After several minutes of wandering he spots two mares, he sighs deeply. Firstly, because he found a group he could slip into easily, and secondly because once again he was embarrassed to be the only male in the female company. How he always manages this, he could never tell you. But life is life and likes to throw things in one’s way just to be entertained.
He delicately folds his wings avoiding the fresh wounds, and draping the feathers over the others gently. His hide still clung to the scents of death, sweat, and blood that laid as a heavy mist on the Plains. His mane sticky and tangled clung to his skin. His tail feathered out and around his ankles, wrapping themselves around them while the real feathering draped over his hooves full of dirt clods and the blood of others as well as the dried trickle of his own. He nods to the ladies, his breathing still a little heavier than normal. After the mare replied to the others question that he had just overheard, its only then that he makes an effort to introduce himself.I’m Phaedrus, of the Dale and Golden Plains. He then offers a slight smirk and continues answering her question as well. I’m here to recruit, what about you? He stops then, lately it seemed that he was needing to talk more and more.
In fact that was exactly what he was on his way to do… again. By nature he was a quiet loner who brooded over all the things that he should have done differently, and made every effort to chide himself on all the things that he did do, right or wrong, it didn’t really matter. If she wanted somewhere that she could disappear when she needed to, the Dale, or the herd… possibly both, would be perfect for her. He would know, because yearly he managed to do the same thing. Even with how busy he would get in other times of the year. Its then that he realizes that he was doing it again, brooding that is. So he shakes out his mane and attempts to focus on the company around him rather than listlessly meandering from one tree to the next, or the horizon, even the grasses would occasionally snag his attention.
i'll carry this flag, to the grave if i must