08-27-2017, 02:06 PM
She had never been drawn here, but somehow now, she finds herself here. Within the depths of series silence, within the den where children are lost and forgotten she wanders. Something pulling her forwards, forcing her lavender limbs to trudge forwards, step by step, shuffle by shall. All that was to be heard, was the steady steps of a graceful wanderer, within the arid atmosphere.
Her hazel glaze flickering too and fro, in search of movement, but why? She had no need for parenthood, no need for children, she was a nomad. She held a sweet prolific life, all on her lonesome, wandering her days aimlessly through the common lands, never stopping, never settling. She had no need for children, for she knew a child could never keep up with her movements, and although she may seem self centered, the purple painted mare, was perhaps more selfless than any other, one would come across, despite her rather care free demeanor.
But some how, she is here.
She trudged forwards, her pastel mane, liquefying slowly, as drops of her body slowly dripped away. Her essays still surveying, until she finds herself near stream where, a small sooty body lay near. Her nostrils flare, as she moves forwards swiftly, lowering her pale violet cranium, allowing droplets of her own mane to collect within the blades of grass, as streams of alabaster toned water dripped down her forehead.
The aroma of wet dog is thickly layered in the air, as she nears the child, with such hesitance, as if she were afraid of the child, the nares of her pink nostrils flare gently against the child's damp side. Her pale velvet muzzle, inches away from touching the child but she restrains herself, maternal instincts gingerly block all of her senses.
"Hello, are you lost?" She breaks the silence, her words are sweet and rough like whiskey. As her pearl lobes, swivel towards the child in curiosity.
Her hazel glaze flickering too and fro, in search of movement, but why? She had no need for parenthood, no need for children, she was a nomad. She held a sweet prolific life, all on her lonesome, wandering her days aimlessly through the common lands, never stopping, never settling. She had no need for children, for she knew a child could never keep up with her movements, and although she may seem self centered, the purple painted mare, was perhaps more selfless than any other, one would come across, despite her rather care free demeanor.
But some how, she is here.
She trudged forwards, her pastel mane, liquefying slowly, as drops of her body slowly dripped away. Her essays still surveying, until she finds herself near stream where, a small sooty body lay near. Her nostrils flare, as she moves forwards swiftly, lowering her pale violet cranium, allowing droplets of her own mane to collect within the blades of grass, as streams of alabaster toned water dripped down her forehead.
The aroma of wet dog is thickly layered in the air, as she nears the child, with such hesitance, as if she were afraid of the child, the nares of her pink nostrils flare gently against the child's damp side. Her pale velvet muzzle, inches away from touching the child but she restrains herself, maternal instincts gingerly block all of her senses.
"Hello, are you lost?" She breaks the silence, her words are sweet and rough like whiskey. As her pearl lobes, swivel towards the child in curiosity.