Strange Place || Any

[Kagerus]

Out with the golden we sew, and the lower past that crawls.
Now, to the doorway you run, to the girl that's not lost.

She is new here, but immediately at ease - that much is easy to tell of the witching woman. Black and green, has that not always been a witch's colour? It would seem so by the way the well built Murgese takes in her foreign surroundings with the grace of a veteran Beqannian. Although I have only just arrived to the field from my home, Hyaline, there is no one else even worth considering: my eyes are glued to her. Stuck.

I approach rapidly, feeding off of the other mare's dark and confident energy. I do not want anyone else getting to her before I do - and they don't.

I pull up from my canter with a small spray of dirt, my tail arced behind me, nostrils flaring, blood pumping madly. With my head held high and my nutmeg eyes flashing, I am the picture of an Arabian mare - spirited, but more than that. Conniving. Intrusive. The olive mare begs the emotions of me, and I am more than willing to oblige her unspoken wishes.

"Not everyone who comes to the field for the first time radiates such confidence," I state, meeting her eyes squarely, refusing to leave them be. "You will do well here."

"I am Kagerus. Who are you?"

Kagerus

sweet nothing