cold in the violence after the war
hope is a fire to keep us warm
She’s not quite sure how he’d gotten that far ahead of her, but the hell if she wasn’t going to catch up! He might have his wings to help him out, but she has pure grit and determination on her side. In retrospect, probably not as helpful as wings, but damnit if she would let him win!
Sand sprays behind her with each step she takes, her hooves digging in to find better purchase as she bounds forward. The wind whips the red of her mane in a wild dance, sweeping the mottled hue of her neck and catching on her flagged tail. All of this is nothing compared to the burn of her muscles exertion with each step and the rush of air through her lungs. Her expression might be focused, determined, but vibrant delight shimmers in the blue of her eye.
She had grown too, her body leanly muscled, the lines of her shoulder and hips and spine protruding sharply against the red and white of her skin. It looks odd now perhaps, but one day soon the bone would begin to pierce the skin, growing until its fleshy prison could no longer contain it. She tried not to think too hard on that day, even knowing it would come.
For now though, she is lost in the moment, in the heat of the chase.
She slows briefly when she sees Dagen run nearly headlong into another. A colt she recognizes almost immediately. She brightens instantly, a wicked grin edging onto her lips as she redoubles her efforts.
“HA!” she shouts with breathless triumph, propelling herself straight into Corban without slowing down even a bit. If she caught him by surprise, no doubt they’d both go tumbling head over heels into the sand. Maybe he could get out of the way, or brace himself to catch her, but she hoped not. She’d never been afraid of a little rough-housing, and this sounds exactly like what she needs today.
Brazen
