08-29-2021, 07:36 AM
Twilight creeps across the pampas, bringing a deep chill that is reminiscent of winter’s callous bite. It seems to settle across the golden grasses with a shudder, the normal gentle swaying of the wildflowers and their stalks coming to an eerie halt as if readying to keep a silent vigil while the peachy gold of the sun slowly relents to the shadow of nightfall.
The young stallion lingers by the stream, his handsome face emotionless and illuminated by the dying sun as it crosses into the beyond of the horizon, silvery patterns from the water gently moving across the deep indigo of his skin. The water is warmer than the air around him, lapping against his ankles with gentle, wet kisses from the slow current. He had kept to himself since his arrival in the Pampas, getting used to the vulnerable openness of this new land he now resided in. He doesn’t even think to call it home - and nothing has ever really been - but there is a simple ache in his bones for the windswept caverns of Pangea (the dust, the barrenness, the shadows that were never-ending) and perhaps even for the deep darkness of Tephra’s jungle.
He cannot hide here - at least, not in the ways he likes best.
Instead, he has hidden among the wildlife - a rabbit, a silvered fish in the stream, and once even a tree - watching and listening. He has even dulled the extravagance of his coat, opting for a plain mousy brown (not without a horn twisting from his forehead, a curious weapon he had once seen in Pangea) so as to blend in far more than his regular appearance would allow.
Tonight, however, he does not hide. Perhaps it is boredom that allows him to stray from his usual habits of trickery (though more likely it is his untethered anger that has come from loneliness) as his star-dotted mouth hovers just over the slight warmth of the stream, his breath a gentle fog with each exhale. His skin flickers and shifts, as if anticipating the want of change as he dips his lips into the water to drink, part of his face becoming the crystal liquid.
When he raises his head it is only water, shimmering in the starlight. It drips from his now-liquid jaw loudly, splashing onto the bank beneath his hooves and running in tiny rivulets down his muscled chest, dampening his skin. With a snort, his clear and watery face gurgles and churns, replacing itself with the orange and violet of his skin that glitters with unknown constellations and galaxies.
The young stallion lingers by the stream, his handsome face emotionless and illuminated by the dying sun as it crosses into the beyond of the horizon, silvery patterns from the water gently moving across the deep indigo of his skin. The water is warmer than the air around him, lapping against his ankles with gentle, wet kisses from the slow current. He had kept to himself since his arrival in the Pampas, getting used to the vulnerable openness of this new land he now resided in. He doesn’t even think to call it home - and nothing has ever really been - but there is a simple ache in his bones for the windswept caverns of Pangea (the dust, the barrenness, the shadows that were never-ending) and perhaps even for the deep darkness of Tephra’s jungle.
He cannot hide here - at least, not in the ways he likes best.
Instead, he has hidden among the wildlife - a rabbit, a silvered fish in the stream, and once even a tree - watching and listening. He has even dulled the extravagance of his coat, opting for a plain mousy brown (not without a horn twisting from his forehead, a curious weapon he had once seen in Pangea) so as to blend in far more than his regular appearance would allow.
Tonight, however, he does not hide. Perhaps it is boredom that allows him to stray from his usual habits of trickery (though more likely it is his untethered anger that has come from loneliness) as his star-dotted mouth hovers just over the slight warmth of the stream, his breath a gentle fog with each exhale. His skin flickers and shifts, as if anticipating the want of change as he dips his lips into the water to drink, part of his face becoming the crystal liquid.
When he raises his head it is only water, shimmering in the starlight. It drips from his now-liquid jaw loudly, splashing onto the bank beneath his hooves and running in tiny rivulets down his muscled chest, dampening his skin. With a snort, his clear and watery face gurgles and churns, replacing itself with the orange and violet of his skin that glitters with unknown constellations and galaxies.
skandar
i want to be the bullet
that brings you to your knees
@Obscene