10-02-2016, 12:38 PM
She can almost feel it.
Deep within her bones, something is stirring. It is not yet recognizable as her magick - a smoking and scorchless fire - but rather as something that wakes her a bit earlier in the morning and keeps her up long past moonrise. She cannot quite place the familiarity, but she has woken from dreams of desert for the last half-dozen nights, and knows that her creator is finally seeking her out. He (gold and glistening) will find her and mend what Beqanna has broken, and then Djinni will be djinni again.
The trees overhead over protection from the sun, but the pale yellow thing has barely begun its summer blazing, and so Djinni lingers in its light. Her dove grey hide is bright and clean, washed by the iron grey sea and dried by the cliff-top wind. Her frosted mane is less soft, dried taught and salty against her neck, but she likes that it carries the comforting scent of brine with her even as she travels away from the Coast.
She glances up at the sound of hooves. There is a young chestnut horse, more heavily built than slender Djinni but clearly female; Djinni wickers a soft greeting to beckon her a bit closer. "Hello," she says, her eyes dark but her smile alluringly friendly.
Deep within her bones, something is stirring. It is not yet recognizable as her magick - a smoking and scorchless fire - but rather as something that wakes her a bit earlier in the morning and keeps her up long past moonrise. She cannot quite place the familiarity, but she has woken from dreams of desert for the last half-dozen nights, and knows that her creator is finally seeking her out. He (gold and glistening) will find her and mend what Beqanna has broken, and then Djinni will be djinni again.
The trees overhead over protection from the sun, but the pale yellow thing has barely begun its summer blazing, and so Djinni lingers in its light. Her dove grey hide is bright and clean, washed by the iron grey sea and dried by the cliff-top wind. Her frosted mane is less soft, dried taught and salty against her neck, but she likes that it carries the comforting scent of brine with her even as she travels away from the Coast.
She glances up at the sound of hooves. There is a young chestnut horse, more heavily built than slender Djinni but clearly female; Djinni wickers a soft greeting to beckon her a bit closer. "Hello," she says, her eyes dark but her smile alluringly friendly.
D J I N N I
genie | rose gold tobiano dun | trickster