12-07-2017, 12:10 AM
<center><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Vollkorn+SC|Cuprum" rel="stylesheet"><div style="width: 600px; background: url('https://i.imgur.com/byjFbOf.png'); padding-top: 5px; background-position: top; background-repeat: no-repeat; background-color: #252a40;box-shadow: 0px 0px 20px #000;border: 1px solid #202022;"><div style="width: 590px; background: url('https://i.imgur.com/byjFbOf.png'); padding-top: 10px; background-position: top; background-repeat: no-repeat; background-color: #1c1c22; box-shadow: 0px 0px 20px #000 inset;"><div style="font-family: 'Cuprum', serif; color: #fff;text-transform:uppercase;font-size: 11px; opacity: .9;text-align:center;text-shadow: 0px 0px 10px #ffa062, .5px 1px 10px #000;margin-top: 430px;line-height: 100%;">my words are unerring tools of destruction</div><div style="width:540px; margin-top: 5px; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px; padding: 10px; opacity: .8; font-family: Times;color: #1a1a1c;font-size: 12px; line-height: 140%; text-align: justify; border-radius: 0px 0px;border: 5px double #1c1c22;; background-color: #bd6c3c;opacity: .7;box-shadow: 0 0 40px #000 inset;">He grows stronger on his new mother’s milk, bolder, though the nightmares have not abated quite yet. He dreams of his birth mother - her scent, her feel, her dark coat. And he is uncertain of his new siblings, these brothers and sisters Femur provides for him, so on this particular winter day the colt slips away, steps and wingbeats carrying him swiftly to the playground. He watches the other foals, delighting in their games and successes, but he does not join in. None of the little play groups feel quite <I>right</I> to him. So he is still watching, longingly, when the big person wanders in, a colt at her side.
Gansey’s eyes go wide - adults are not allowed here! - but he edges closer, keeping to the periphery of the group as she begins to tell her story. He is quiet, does not forget like the rest, looks like the perfectly behaved little boy; but his mind wanders. He looks at her wings, admiring the pretty feathers, he looks at the other children, trying to mimic their more childlike behaviors; but he cannot bring himself to speak out of turn or to ask any questions. Not like the others, who are bright and noisy and mosey. Gansey is serious, considering with a frown on his face, tryin to decide what he wants for this Christmas. All too soon she is finished with her store, and she sends them away.
He sets off on his own, still uncertain of what to ask this Santa for if he finds him. Probably his mother back - but that seems beyond even Santa’s power. Still. Or perhaps - and here he shudders - he has not been a good boy. Maybe that is why his mother had left him - or at least, that’s what the creatures in his nightmares keep telling him.
Gansey knows he’s never met ‘Santa’ before, so he can’t live any of the places the colt has been before. Setting off on his own, he heads to the Meadow first. Approaching several different horses, the little pegasus oh-so-politely asks if they’ve seen Santa. Some laugh, some are gentle, some are mean but the answer is consistent: they haven’t seen or met anyone named Santa.
He perseveres, even though he is starting to get tired, and wanders across unfamiliar territory for long hours, asking everyone who will listen. The ground is grass, and the loan, and finally sand beneath his hooves. The air here is still and quiet and uncomfortable, the beach he landed on silent except the crashing of the not-so-distant waves on the shore and the occasional seabird. None of them couldpoint him in the right direction and he’s tired, and hungry, and Femur is sure to have missed him by now.
Gansey is just about to take flight and try to get un-lost by air when there is a rustle in the sand, and he spins around to look at the creature behind him, gasping out <b> “Santa?”</b> in a nervous voice.
</div><div style="font-family: 'Vollkorn SC', serif; font-size: 40px;color: #fff; text-align:center;text-shadow: 0px 0px 6px #f0964d, 0 0 100px #e97939;margin-top: -12px;margin-bottom: -12px;letter-spacing: 2px;">gansey</div><div style="font-family: 'Cuprum', serif; color: #fff;text-transform: uppercase; font-size: 11px; opacity: .9;text-shadow: 0px 0px 10px #ffa062, .5px 1px 10px #000;padding-bottom: 10px;">and I've become unequipped with the ability to disarm them</div></center>
Gansey’s eyes go wide - adults are not allowed here! - but he edges closer, keeping to the periphery of the group as she begins to tell her story. He is quiet, does not forget like the rest, looks like the perfectly behaved little boy; but his mind wanders. He looks at her wings, admiring the pretty feathers, he looks at the other children, trying to mimic their more childlike behaviors; but he cannot bring himself to speak out of turn or to ask any questions. Not like the others, who are bright and noisy and mosey. Gansey is serious, considering with a frown on his face, tryin to decide what he wants for this Christmas. All too soon she is finished with her store, and she sends them away.
He sets off on his own, still uncertain of what to ask this Santa for if he finds him. Probably his mother back - but that seems beyond even Santa’s power. Still. Or perhaps - and here he shudders - he has not been a good boy. Maybe that is why his mother had left him - or at least, that’s what the creatures in his nightmares keep telling him.
Gansey knows he’s never met ‘Santa’ before, so he can’t live any of the places the colt has been before. Setting off on his own, he heads to the Meadow first. Approaching several different horses, the little pegasus oh-so-politely asks if they’ve seen Santa. Some laugh, some are gentle, some are mean but the answer is consistent: they haven’t seen or met anyone named Santa.
He perseveres, even though he is starting to get tired, and wanders across unfamiliar territory for long hours, asking everyone who will listen. The ground is grass, and the loan, and finally sand beneath his hooves. The air here is still and quiet and uncomfortable, the beach he landed on silent except the crashing of the not-so-distant waves on the shore and the occasional seabird. None of them couldpoint him in the right direction and he’s tired, and hungry, and Femur is sure to have missed him by now.
Gansey is just about to take flight and try to get un-lost by air when there is a rustle in the sand, and he spins around to look at the creature behind him, gasping out <b> “Santa?”</b> in a nervous voice.
</div><div style="font-family: 'Vollkorn SC', serif; font-size: 40px;color: #fff; text-align:center;text-shadow: 0px 0px 6px #f0964d, 0 0 100px #e97939;margin-top: -12px;margin-bottom: -12px;letter-spacing: 2px;">gansey</div><div style="font-family: 'Cuprum', serif; color: #fff;text-transform: uppercase; font-size: 11px; opacity: .9;text-shadow: 0px 0px 10px #ffa062, .5px 1px 10px #000;padding-bottom: 10px;">and I've become unequipped with the ability to disarm them</div></center>