11-07-2019, 09:57 AM
The smaller filly blinks up at the turquoise with open curiosity. It does not occur to her that the stranger might be considering devouring her. Instead her, seafoam eyes dance across the older horse’s pretty face and tangled mane. That her attention lingers for a moment at Rivuline’s throat is a quirk of her instinct that she has never paid much mind to, and she never thinks that perhaps the other does much the same: and with the same golden-eyed stallion to thank for the inherited drive.
Celina’s pale eyes flick toward the newcomer with bright interest. The greying chestnut has a lovely spiral horn protruding from her forehead, the sharpness reminiscent of her own teeth. Can she use it as a weapon, the filly wonders? She has seen the deer of her homeland spar with their tined antlers, but a single spike might be less useful. Decoration, perhaps, like the hollow bits of stone that are hidden in the tangle of her navy mane. The white filly decides that the newcomer is probably Marni’s age, and the white markings on her coat deepen the likeness. Nodding at her own observation, Celina, she continues after Catche’s observation as well.
“I had a pinecone stuck in my tail once,” she tells them both, hopeful that her somber tone conveys the seriousness of the situation she describes. “And a nice lady helped me get it out even though I didn’t even ask.” With that act, the Balance was shifted, and her offer to Rivuline has been her effort to right it again. Life is a series of balances, she has been taught, with each act repaid in turn. Yet it seems that the odd growth on Rivuline’s back is something that she is attached to in more ways than one, and Celina shrugs her thin shoulders in acceptance. It’s not something she would keep, given the choice, but perhaps there is some hidden use for it.
“It’s um, very nice.” She tell the older woman, unaware that the lie is painted boldly in her small face for both of them to see.
The turquoise mare introduces herself. Rivuline, a pretty name, one that reminds her of water trickling over stones in a Taigan creek. “I’m Celina.” She announces, adding that: “It means ‘sky’” in case either of them wondered. When Rivuline asks where they are, Celina happily volunteers that they are in “The Meadow!” shooting a victorious glance toward Catcher, just in case the overo had hoped to speak first. She forgets, of course, the second half of the question, and smiles proudly.
@[Catcher]
@[Rivuline]
Celina’s pale eyes flick toward the newcomer with bright interest. The greying chestnut has a lovely spiral horn protruding from her forehead, the sharpness reminiscent of her own teeth. Can she use it as a weapon, the filly wonders? She has seen the deer of her homeland spar with their tined antlers, but a single spike might be less useful. Decoration, perhaps, like the hollow bits of stone that are hidden in the tangle of her navy mane. The white filly decides that the newcomer is probably Marni’s age, and the white markings on her coat deepen the likeness. Nodding at her own observation, Celina, she continues after Catche’s observation as well.
“I had a pinecone stuck in my tail once,” she tells them both, hopeful that her somber tone conveys the seriousness of the situation she describes. “And a nice lady helped me get it out even though I didn’t even ask.” With that act, the Balance was shifted, and her offer to Rivuline has been her effort to right it again. Life is a series of balances, she has been taught, with each act repaid in turn. Yet it seems that the odd growth on Rivuline’s back is something that she is attached to in more ways than one, and Celina shrugs her thin shoulders in acceptance. It’s not something she would keep, given the choice, but perhaps there is some hidden use for it.
“It’s um, very nice.” She tell the older woman, unaware that the lie is painted boldly in her small face for both of them to see.
The turquoise mare introduces herself. Rivuline, a pretty name, one that reminds her of water trickling over stones in a Taigan creek. “I’m Celina.” She announces, adding that: “It means ‘sky’” in case either of them wondered. When Rivuline asks where they are, Celina happily volunteers that they are in “The Meadow!” shooting a victorious glance toward Catcher, just in case the overo had hoped to speak first. She forgets, of course, the second half of the question, and smiles proudly.
@[Catcher]
@[Rivuline]