You’re uncontrollable
and we are unlovable
and we are unlovable
The Isle is unforgiving in winter; unyielding horses stubbornly reside where nature tells them every year that they shouldn’t. Spring and summer however, allow them to graze - and so does Nerine, when in time of need. The winter kingdom - princedom, home of the hounds, territory, whatever - could never be solitary, save for those like him, those who are so accustomed to the snow and ice that there is hardly any choice.
It’d be lonely if it were standing alone.
Luckily, it doesn’t. And now that spring is well underway, the place allows for a certain foal to be given the proper meals. Himself, he hasn’t eaten anything vegetarian for a long time, and it feels like perhaps he should. This little escape from reality could be just the thing.
Grazing isn’t exactly a possibility with teeth like his. They’re only suited for tearing things apart; thus, he digs for roots, finds berries, and perhaps some early fruits.
He wanders a bit, doing so, until he spots a hare and decides that it might be fate.
The stallion has the benefit of not smelling actually like a predator; being a horse and all, he can pretend to graze until he’s close enough. A breath of icy cold then is aimed at the small animal; their warm paws get stuck with ice to the ground like a tongue on a frozen object (not his, but regular people’s tongues). The ice drake stills his hunger quickly, and so it becomes apparent to him that all those years living on a strict vegetarian diet were a ruse.
If he is a predator, he’d better get used to it. It’s like that day with Sabra. Sometimes it’s better to give in to what you are, he thinks. It’d been better for everyone.
The scaled draft wanders further, his roan scales glistening in the spring sun, courtesy to the ice adorning them. He enters the field not because he’s actively looking for anything; remembers how long ago it was that he’d been here, wanting to prove that he could actually be a diplomat and starting a chain of events that led to many a horse’s demise. Well, his own mostly, and possibly the bay mare’s. She’d make a great mother though. Just a terrible wife or girlfriend. Is that rude of him? She had been expecting more than he could give, after all.
And for now he’s decided not to give, any more. Not that he’s taking instead, he just doesn’t involve himself. It’s easier. The odd way out. It’s the only thing he knows.
The field is rather empty this morning, and he enjoys the idea that recruitment has come to a standstill for those who came here daily for that purpose. Oh, diplomats. He shakes his head and finds a sole tree to relieve an itch; then, shoulder resting on the cold stem, he watches lazily.
A mare walks into the field. For a moment, Leilan is content to simply watch, see what she’s doing. But she’s doing nothing; standing, probably thinking a lot of things he doesn’t need or want to know, and on the lookout.
After what feels like an eternity, he calls out. He’d better go see what she wants, this empty-looking mare filled with thoughts.
It’d be lonely if it were standing alone.
Luckily, it doesn’t. And now that spring is well underway, the place allows for a certain foal to be given the proper meals. Himself, he hasn’t eaten anything vegetarian for a long time, and it feels like perhaps he should. This little escape from reality could be just the thing.
Grazing isn’t exactly a possibility with teeth like his. They’re only suited for tearing things apart; thus, he digs for roots, finds berries, and perhaps some early fruits.
He wanders a bit, doing so, until he spots a hare and decides that it might be fate.
The stallion has the benefit of not smelling actually like a predator; being a horse and all, he can pretend to graze until he’s close enough. A breath of icy cold then is aimed at the small animal; their warm paws get stuck with ice to the ground like a tongue on a frozen object (not his, but regular people’s tongues). The ice drake stills his hunger quickly, and so it becomes apparent to him that all those years living on a strict vegetarian diet were a ruse.
If he is a predator, he’d better get used to it. It’s like that day with Sabra. Sometimes it’s better to give in to what you are, he thinks. It’d been better for everyone.
The scaled draft wanders further, his roan scales glistening in the spring sun, courtesy to the ice adorning them. He enters the field not because he’s actively looking for anything; remembers how long ago it was that he’d been here, wanting to prove that he could actually be a diplomat and starting a chain of events that led to many a horse’s demise. Well, his own mostly, and possibly the bay mare’s. She’d make a great mother though. Just a terrible wife or girlfriend. Is that rude of him? She had been expecting more than he could give, after all.
And for now he’s decided not to give, any more. Not that he’s taking instead, he just doesn’t involve himself. It’s easier. The odd way out. It’s the only thing he knows.
The field is rather empty this morning, and he enjoys the idea that recruitment has come to a standstill for those who came here daily for that purpose. Oh, diplomats. He shakes his head and finds a sole tree to relieve an itch; then, shoulder resting on the cold stem, he watches lazily.
A mare walks into the field. For a moment, Leilan is content to simply watch, see what she’s doing. But she’s doing nothing; standing, probably thinking a lot of things he doesn’t need or want to know, and on the lookout.
After what feels like an eternity, he calls out. He’d better go see what she wants, this empty-looking mare filled with thoughts.
and I don’t want you to think that I care
I never would, I never could again
Leilan
no. 7 | ice forged in fire
@[Kindling]
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
| 