03-23-2020, 11:47 AM
We got older and I should have known
that I’d feel colder when I walk alone
that I’d feel colder when I walk alone
As the male rounds another corner, he sighs - the view hasn’t changed one bit.
One might say that Icicle Isle had always had just a single view - cold winds carrying ocean sprays or snow drifts, running over granite and sturdy grass, or in three out of four seasons, snow and ice - but these days it’s all grey and black and steam greeting him.
The forest to the west is burned to black, ashen stakes, providing very little in the name of shelter, and even less in the name of a landmark. The landmarks, where there were many similar ones, now are all gone and reduced to ash, or they are rocks. Rock-with-a-round-dent is only distinguished from rock-with-pointy-end and larger-rock-without-moss by the smallest details.
So Leilan finds his home is not very interesting to most, any more.
And yet there are some who still call this place home. He smells one of them now, passing by crack-that-looks-like-Neverwhere’s-mouth (a relatively straight, if somewhat downward-facing line at the tips; the perfect scowl). The ice-covered stallion stands his ground and raises his nose to the air, testing it for the one who’s close by. A greeting whinny follows, inviting them over.
Not many remain on the Isle. It’s best he finds out who and, more importantly, why they haven’t left.
One might say that Icicle Isle had always had just a single view - cold winds carrying ocean sprays or snow drifts, running over granite and sturdy grass, or in three out of four seasons, snow and ice - but these days it’s all grey and black and steam greeting him.
The forest to the west is burned to black, ashen stakes, providing very little in the name of shelter, and even less in the name of a landmark. The landmarks, where there were many similar ones, now are all gone and reduced to ash, or they are rocks. Rock-with-a-round-dent is only distinguished from rock-with-pointy-end and larger-rock-without-moss by the smallest details.
So Leilan finds his home is not very interesting to most, any more.
And yet there are some who still call this place home. He smells one of them now, passing by crack-that-looks-like-Neverwhere’s-mouth (a relatively straight, if somewhat downward-facing line at the tips; the perfect scowl). The ice-covered stallion stands his ground and raises his nose to the air, testing it for the one who’s close by. A greeting whinny follows, inviting them over.
Not many remain on the Isle. It’s best he finds out who and, more importantly, why they haven’t left.
Leilan
no. 7 | ice forged in fire
@[Sabrina] (I'm reusing this starter xD)
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
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