01-01-2018, 07:11 PM
The purity in the young, twisted mare is as gentle as the honeysuckle's scent. Epithet (older than the land itself) wonders if she were ever like the gentle creature before her. Was there ever a time that another looked upon her the same way and smiled? If there had been, the horse must be nothing more than soil and dust.
The woman appears youthful, glowing and eternal, her smile curling her lips with much more ease than she would care to admit to. Epithet does welcome the greeting by sweet Wound and her warm brown eyes. She was so simple, a mediocre creature with a sharp limp but gentle eyes. It made Epithet nearly regret her decision to dip herself in indigo but she does not wish to shift before the young mare. Epi had learned in her younger years that bragging made one (no matter their appearance) quite fucking ugly.
Her breath is warm against the bridge of her blue nose. Pale lavender eyes are watching carefully as Epithet feels contact for the first time that held no malicious, angry, or conniving attempts. When Wound tells her that her name is pretty as well as her skin, Epithet damn near turns a pale shade of pink in the surprise she feels at the genuinely nice compliment. "Wound-", the indigo woman hesitates on the name as she tried to imagine the kind of mother to look down upon a frail wisp of a filly and name her simply 'Wound'. Epithet smiles gently while raising her head. "I think I'd like to see this Tephra of yours."
And that was that. Epithet tries to remember if she already knew the land but can not recall it quickly enough. Oh well. The blue mare is happy to see it all again with her new (hopefully!) friend next to her.
The woman appears youthful, glowing and eternal, her smile curling her lips with much more ease than she would care to admit to. Epithet does welcome the greeting by sweet Wound and her warm brown eyes. She was so simple, a mediocre creature with a sharp limp but gentle eyes. It made Epithet nearly regret her decision to dip herself in indigo but she does not wish to shift before the young mare. Epi had learned in her younger years that bragging made one (no matter their appearance) quite fucking ugly.
Her breath is warm against the bridge of her blue nose. Pale lavender eyes are watching carefully as Epithet feels contact for the first time that held no malicious, angry, or conniving attempts. When Wound tells her that her name is pretty as well as her skin, Epithet damn near turns a pale shade of pink in the surprise she feels at the genuinely nice compliment. "Wound-", the indigo woman hesitates on the name as she tried to imagine the kind of mother to look down upon a frail wisp of a filly and name her simply 'Wound'. Epithet smiles gently while raising her head. "I think I'd like to see this Tephra of yours."
And that was that. Epithet tries to remember if she already knew the land but can not recall it quickly enough. Oh well. The blue mare is happy to see it all again with her new (hopefully!) friend next to her.
E P I T H E T