06-09-2015, 02:09 PM
The inky blackness above is peppered with small constellations; tiny pinpricks of light adorning the vast expanse of above, however starlit the night may have been it was certainly a moonless one. The glow of the statues of previous rulers, their humming magic around the Valley was alive. The flame-kissed mare ambles, a quiet, nonchalant amble. Her long limbs gliding over the valley’s crisp ground. Her head, like a finely carved monument at the end of her willowy neck is craned upward, her orange eyes surveying the valley’s darkness, the treeline with their looming shadows, the way the starlight picks out random glistening boughs, the hoot of the owls and the howl of the wolves patrolling the borders. It seems as though she'd never left her home, it all came back to her like sharp daggers entering her brain, welcoming sharp daggers. Fiery tendrils lay against a light sheen of sweat upon her neck – summer’s early warmth was already taking hold. She feels as though she spends most of her time dusty, sweaty and a mess. Of course the beautiful fire-kissed lady was unkempt as can be, but through all the matted mane full of burrs and thorns from recent scavenging in vain hopes of finding memories, but ending up succumbing to the dust and mud from her roll in the copse of wet swamp. She bathed herself in the slick mud, her doing of course (the heavens opened and poured rain at her merest glance, making the ground sodden beneath her hooves, wet beneath her fiery skin.) she was still quite a sight. Almost iridescent, like flames against the blackness of the valley. her golden swirls alive like heartbeats, fiery and dancing up her limbs. Azula’s mind is a haze of recollection – her past, her present, the future. She wonders, with each dawdling step forward, if her future is still as bright as the fire within her chest, the passion to push forward, as bright as her mother had wanted. She was certain of that. Her ashen nostrils flare, inhaling the damp night, the flies were still about and her tail was doing a good job of swatting, swathing over her loins like fire lapping against fire. She is unsure of any old inhabitant's whereabouts; she had gone off years ago, in a storm of wind and hail, was adamant on flaunting her ability and of course the mare never returned. Ash tipped ears swerve atop her head, listening to the sounds of the night. A low chuckle breaks the silent night, slipping from hallowed lips. Her smile is neither broad nor minuscule, it is just there, a small line, a curve of her ashen muzzle. There's a dazzle in the dark sky, a piercing light, a strike of lightning, purple, red, blue, then stark orange. She laughed again, a bright sound seemed so foreign to fall from her lips, and then one single stamp of her hoof and all was still, all was silent once more. Her thoughts shift, just like her walking pattern; deciding for a large circle, like a circuit around the valley's borders, with her head craned upward, her eyes a pensive haze but still observant of her empty surroundings. The magic around her tonight seems more.. Aggressive perhaps. Riled. It tasted like home then, she was back, she was back on soil that was born into her flesh, embers that tainted her heart and soul. She stood there, fire against black, orange eyes staring out into the valley before her. She may have felt at home already but that wasn't deciding the outlook on others. She wondered how things had changed, the ranks, they must have shifted in the years she's been gone. She knew the sharpness in the air, the coolness from the rain she'd ordered the skies to cry. But it occurred to the fiery mare, then, that no one would have known her like the valley knew her. AZULA; the orange eyed, weather manipulating daughter of jackal lantern & calcyfur let's burn something |