09-07-2016, 02:22 PM
[style].sundaypic2{background-image:url("http://barbellsandbeakers.com/beqanna/witchflygif.gif");width:500px;height:500px;z-index:1;border:black solid 1px}.sundaytext2{z-index:2;width:400px;height:370px;position:relative;top:20px;overflow-y:auto;color:#ffffff;text-align:justify;font-family:times;background-color:#000000;opacity: 0.4;filter: alpha(opacity=40);padding:10px;}.sundayname2{z-index:3;position:relative;top:30px;color:#ffffff;font-size:25pt;font-family:times;letter-spacing:10px;}.sundayquote{z-index:7;position:relative:bottom:80px;color:#000000;font-family:times;font-size:8pt;}[/style]<center><div class="sundaypic2"><div class="sundaytext2">It is not uncommon to find a relative in Beqanna.
It's uncommon for Beqanna to shift as it did.
These are truths Sunday doesn't know, for Sunday has been asleep.
Hibernating.
Whichever.
One moment Sunday was in the Amazons, serving as bloodrider to Scorch, looking for her missing child (that no one saw born). Humoring her, really. What are friends for, but not to aid us in our time of need?
The next moment Sunday felt tired, a great tiredness. She lay down and then...blackness.
Plants grew over her and covered her from the sight and smell of her sisters. She became nothing, a great nothing, until the lands shifted and spit her out on the Mountain. Even then she did not truly wake, she was still a slumbering giant. The moss over her like paint, until she is encouraged to rise.
Call it blood ties.
Call it the end of winter.
Call it what you like, the mare stretched her legs and shook the foliage off her body. She wandered, and it didn't take long before she saw the bleeding mess of Thorunn.
No, she doesn't know her name, or recognize her, but she feels a sort of ... familial connection. She knows she's not in the Amazons (where she is is a mystery) but perhaps something happened. She knows her sleep has been long. She lowers her muzzle to the mare at her feet and concentrates hard. She pulls on the magick of the land, feeling it flow - but not as before. There's a disruption, some snag in the line. It's not enough to keep her from healing the girl, but she is not...fixed. Her face is a scab and a scar, mismatched and hideous - but it will not bleed. It will not infect, hopefully.
Sunday is tired now, but curious. So she leaves the girl, knowing she is healed and will recover, to find answers.
</div><div class="sundayname2">S<i>U</i>NDAY</div><BR>
<div class="sundayquote"><I>never put your faith in a prince. when you require a miracle, trust in a witch</i></div></div></div></center>
It's uncommon for Beqanna to shift as it did.
These are truths Sunday doesn't know, for Sunday has been asleep.
Hibernating.
Whichever.
One moment Sunday was in the Amazons, serving as bloodrider to Scorch, looking for her missing child (that no one saw born). Humoring her, really. What are friends for, but not to aid us in our time of need?
The next moment Sunday felt tired, a great tiredness. She lay down and then...blackness.
Plants grew over her and covered her from the sight and smell of her sisters. She became nothing, a great nothing, until the lands shifted and spit her out on the Mountain. Even then she did not truly wake, she was still a slumbering giant. The moss over her like paint, until she is encouraged to rise.
Call it blood ties.
Call it the end of winter.
Call it what you like, the mare stretched her legs and shook the foliage off her body. She wandered, and it didn't take long before she saw the bleeding mess of Thorunn.
No, she doesn't know her name, or recognize her, but she feels a sort of ... familial connection. She knows she's not in the Amazons (where she is is a mystery) but perhaps something happened. She knows her sleep has been long. She lowers her muzzle to the mare at her feet and concentrates hard. She pulls on the magick of the land, feeling it flow - but not as before. There's a disruption, some snag in the line. It's not enough to keep her from healing the girl, but she is not...fixed. Her face is a scab and a scar, mismatched and hideous - but it will not bleed. It will not infect, hopefully.
Sunday is tired now, but curious. So she leaves the girl, knowing she is healed and will recover, to find answers.
</div><div class="sundayname2">S<i>U</i>NDAY</div><BR>
<div class="sundayquote"><I>never put your faith in a prince. when you require a miracle, trust in a witch</i></div></div></div></center>