03-16-2017, 10:13 AM
Ever since Merida had been young, the mare had set her sights on greatness. She always strived for being the best when she was just a filly, and that really hadn’t changed much in the years that she had grown. The source of her thirst for came from her desire to be unique, and though her onyx coat flecked with fiery red spots were unique in their own way, this was not the level of uniqueness that Merida sought. Physical differences were not what attracted her; she wishes for magic all her own, a personal journey which she was not lucky enough to be born with. Not having any sort of magic or power of her own was discerning to Merida, and she vowed one day she would wield a power so strong, that she would not need anyone but herself to survive.
But for now, the plain (or what she imagines) mare was merely mortal, nothing to offer Beqanna but colors of fire and smoke and a flaming personality to match.
Her golden eyes watch curiously as the stallion sluggishly arrives and for a moment she wonders if he’s caught his death in the frigid temperature. She had been living in the meadow for all of winter now and despite her hatred of the snow and ice, she had grown accustomed. She soon realizes (because she is not dim even if she is quick to trust), that his slow movement was not from sickness, but from lack of motivation. She snorts sharply, slightly offended but at the same time intrigued. He offers her a greeting, which had no feeling whatsoever, and her black hears tip back slightly. “I’m sorry,” she says, a touch of Scottish accent on her voice – she seems sincere. Her ebony eyelids shroud her piercingly golden eyes, squinting maliciously at the oh-so-forlorn stranger. “I didn’t realize my calling you over would be interrupting your very important mission of wandering aimlessly through the woods at midnight.” Her voice changes from sincerity to facetiousness.
Her eyes leave him, slightly rolling upwards as she fixes her gaze on the scenery around them. Stallions.
“All the same, hello.” Her voice is metallic, smooth yet fierce on the cold air. Winter was on its way out and subtle hints of spring were beginning to show – but right now the only visible thing was the shadows of trees and the moonlight illuminating whatever was left of snow and ice.
Merida flicks her black tail sharply against her hindquarters, a bad habit she acquired that gave her away when she was slightly annoyed. She doesn’t blame him, to be honest. The meadow was terrible and he probably has been wandering the same godforsaken piece of land the same as she has – searching for a place to call home but at the same time not really trying to find one. Her lips twist into a grimace and thoughtlessly she adds, “I hate this place.” It wasn’t even a statement really meant for him to answer or reply to, just an observation that she’s sure he might agree with.
She doesn’t offer her name or any other attempts at a conversation. She merely stands there silently and unmoving, wondering if he’ll continue on his way. She would be fine with pretending they hadn't crossed paths, not even exchanging names. Merida was definitely not one to try and drag a conversation through when it was so desperately obvious that it wasn't going to happen.
But for now, the plain (or what she imagines) mare was merely mortal, nothing to offer Beqanna but colors of fire and smoke and a flaming personality to match.
Her golden eyes watch curiously as the stallion sluggishly arrives and for a moment she wonders if he’s caught his death in the frigid temperature. She had been living in the meadow for all of winter now and despite her hatred of the snow and ice, she had grown accustomed. She soon realizes (because she is not dim even if she is quick to trust), that his slow movement was not from sickness, but from lack of motivation. She snorts sharply, slightly offended but at the same time intrigued. He offers her a greeting, which had no feeling whatsoever, and her black hears tip back slightly. “I’m sorry,” she says, a touch of Scottish accent on her voice – she seems sincere. Her ebony eyelids shroud her piercingly golden eyes, squinting maliciously at the oh-so-forlorn stranger. “I didn’t realize my calling you over would be interrupting your very important mission of wandering aimlessly through the woods at midnight.” Her voice changes from sincerity to facetiousness.
Her eyes leave him, slightly rolling upwards as she fixes her gaze on the scenery around them. Stallions.
“All the same, hello.” Her voice is metallic, smooth yet fierce on the cold air. Winter was on its way out and subtle hints of spring were beginning to show – but right now the only visible thing was the shadows of trees and the moonlight illuminating whatever was left of snow and ice.
Merida flicks her black tail sharply against her hindquarters, a bad habit she acquired that gave her away when she was slightly annoyed. She doesn’t blame him, to be honest. The meadow was terrible and he probably has been wandering the same godforsaken piece of land the same as she has – searching for a place to call home but at the same time not really trying to find one. Her lips twist into a grimace and thoughtlessly she adds, “I hate this place.” It wasn’t even a statement really meant for him to answer or reply to, just an observation that she’s sure he might agree with.
She doesn’t offer her name or any other attempts at a conversation. She merely stands there silently and unmoving, wondering if he’ll continue on his way. She would be fine with pretending they hadn't crossed paths, not even exchanging names. Merida was definitely not one to try and drag a conversation through when it was so desperately obvious that it wasn't going to happen.