06-01-2018, 08:42 PM
haze like a fever
i fell like a dreamer for sweet tea and lemonade; it clings to my t-shirt it’s loud and it lingers, designed to suffocate. i light up to find what i’ve known all this time, there’s some beauty here yet
To keep her thoughts away from the impending prison of her coronation (a prison or a liberation, depending on how the girl looks at it), Wishbone explores. It’s been an entire year since her hooves had first touched Nerine’s border, yet still she finds piece of the kingdom that she hadn’t noticed a day before. The caverns that freckle the shoreline are numerous and deep-set, allowing days of exploration.
She’d gotten lost for three days in one cave system and when the sun had kissed her chilly skin, she’d almost cried.
Yet that adventure didn’t scare her from the thrill of discovery. On nights when she can’t sleep, her feet will often bring her to the shoreline. Sometimes, under the spin and dance of a thousand constellations (most that she can name), she will toss her headstrong body into the waves to swim out and then allow the tide to drag her back in. If she goes out far enough, the songs of the whales will vibrate against her heels and tickle along her sides and she will linger for a few moments, watching them breach against the moon’s light.
Other nights, like tonight, her feet will guide her toward the uncharted caves. Wishbone walks along the shore, the lackadaisical waves caressing her heels. Her amber eyes look into the depths of each cavern until she finds one appeasing to the tingle of adventure in her stomach. The charged energy of the night works against her muscles and she darts into the waves, splashing the cool of the salty water against her mahogany chest before turning back toward the sand, offering a wild buck into the starry sky.
Lower half dripping with ocean-water, Wishbone curiously peers into the mouth of the cave. Granite cliffs rise on either side of her, but the shine of the moon and the laughter of the stars provides enough light that she can see dimly. A low snort jumps from her nostrils, the faint scent of a stranger reaching her sable nose.
“Who’s here?” Her honey-whiskey voice echos off the walls of the cave, mingling with the rush of the waves over her shoulder and the quiet vibe of energy in the atmosphere. It’s a thrilling night, maybe just for Wishbone, and her skin feels almost tingly from the character of the evening.
She’d gotten lost for three days in one cave system and when the sun had kissed her chilly skin, she’d almost cried.
Yet that adventure didn’t scare her from the thrill of discovery. On nights when she can’t sleep, her feet will often bring her to the shoreline. Sometimes, under the spin and dance of a thousand constellations (most that she can name), she will toss her headstrong body into the waves to swim out and then allow the tide to drag her back in. If she goes out far enough, the songs of the whales will vibrate against her heels and tickle along her sides and she will linger for a few moments, watching them breach against the moon’s light.
Other nights, like tonight, her feet will guide her toward the uncharted caves. Wishbone walks along the shore, the lackadaisical waves caressing her heels. Her amber eyes look into the depths of each cavern until she finds one appeasing to the tingle of adventure in her stomach. The charged energy of the night works against her muscles and she darts into the waves, splashing the cool of the salty water against her mahogany chest before turning back toward the sand, offering a wild buck into the starry sky.
Lower half dripping with ocean-water, Wishbone curiously peers into the mouth of the cave. Granite cliffs rise on either side of her, but the shine of the moon and the laughter of the stars provides enough light that she can see dimly. A low snort jumps from her nostrils, the faint scent of a stranger reaching her sable nose.
“Who’s here?” Her honey-whiskey voice echos off the walls of the cave, mingling with the rush of the waves over her shoulder and the quiet vibe of energy in the atmosphere. It’s a thrilling night, maybe just for Wishbone, and her skin feels almost tingly from the character of the evening.
@[Ivar]