Deep Scars brings out a butterfly

[Engelsfors]

angels fall on broken wings; On closer inspections the blue roan was more worn and weary than I had thought; the cold winds that bit with razor sharp teeth, was not the kindest of weathers to be weathering in. I stepped closer, worn feet sinking in the soft earth beneath. Ears twiddling, listening. My eyes trailed over her, noting the sinews, well proportioned. Worn yet weary. Fatigue could be well rested, I was certain, but could this mare offer something to the chamber in return for letting her rest up in the confines of the trees. I offered a debonair smile, silver and spun gold, even on my newly adopted facade of deep blood burgundy. 'Mystic. Pleasure, I'm sure.' an incline of my crown, ever so gently. I was brought up well, and kept all my manners in check, it was a habit, a habit that would die with me and possibly crawl out from the grave, and thank those burying me. A cool, crisp smile replaced my debonair folly. 'We have towering pines, a brilliant fortress from not only the elements. It is not far off the trail here, perhaps then we can talk, out of the vastness.' I watch her, curious. Ink blue skin a contrast against the ivory starting to blanket the fields. I step forward, young eyes still curious and curious in their stare and make up of the mare. I closed nearer her, extending a muzzle, breathing her in; strange scents, foreign and unknown meet me and a shiver runs down every notch in my spine. 'You have been through much, Mystic. Scars can build character, you know.' I tried to make light, I was unsure why. This new persona, softer, even a little more sensitive. I wondered when it had ben ignited. I stepped away, pushing aside the boughs of the trees and lifting a leg to part the crumbling brush. 'The Chamber is this way, if you do wish to follow.' can't give up, can't give in;