"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
07-31-2016, 06:08 PM (This post was last modified: 07-31-2016, 06:09 PM by Phynn.)
Can you please turn yourself down?
Ritalin kids doing cocaine wipe outs.
What was he planning to do in the meadow? What was there to accomplish in the dead of fucking winter other than walk out into the frostbit land and just die? The black skinned stallion looks over the frozen wasteland and nothing, ABSOLUTELY nothing is catching his yellow eyes. His walk is more of a shuffle, a residual act from his shifted form.
The taste of copper still stings his tongue as the red is oxidizing against the skin of his chest and fore limbs. The stallion never ate grass anymore. It was much too satisfying to hunt. The act alone caused his heart to surge, his body completely alive and electric. Flat ivories were nothing compared to hyena fangs. The were capable of splintering flesh and bone just as easily as clipping at the graze under the sheet of ice.
Phynn notices that against the white of his surroundings are a few other horses. Lobes move to catch small clips of their conversations but nothing seems to be worth listening to. In fact, the stallion would prefer to maybe have some company of a mare. Something small, and cute and vulnerable.
Hound has been basking in the winter. Death, decay, and the cold surround her. She loves it, she flourishes in it. She cannot help but wonder how many more winters she will spend aimlessly trekking through an earth she no longer wants to live on. Rage, red rage, is set so deeply in her bones she can no longer remember when it got there. Or why it got there. She hates her mother, perhaps that is the cause? But to have such deep rooted spite there must be something causing it. Hound does not know.
She stalks through the forest. The trees provide her cover, since her coat does quite the opposite. Have you ever tried to hide from the eyes of others, only to remember you're a damn Knabstrup and your coat is white with notable brown spots all over it? If you haven't you should definitely give it a shot. It's absolutely insufferable. As is her entire existence, so really...what's new?
That's when she saw him. She rarely saw anyone who carried herself with the sheer boldness and carefree demeanor in which she presented herself. A stallion, of course. Men were so fucking proud. She snarled, but was somehow drawn to the creature because she would gladly challenge anyone who came across stronger than her. Hound was not afraid of death. She was not afraid to fight, to fall, to fail. She thrived on struggling, yet somehow coming out on top. And so, for whatever reason today is different than most days.
Hound confidently strides up, each step pointedly slapping the ground to make her presence known long before she ever actually arrives. With a sudden, harsh halt, a few melting pieces of snow and ice fly up under her feet.
"Excuse me." She scoffed, as if the stallion had been in her way and not directly in her path she forged. "I'm trying to walk here."
08-09-2016, 08:25 PM (This post was last modified: 08-09-2016, 08:27 PM by Phynn.)
Can you please turn yourself down?
Ritalin kids doing cocaine wipe outs.
Mares.
Always so damned aggravating. Always looking to fight, to fuck, to prove something. They always want tobe stronger, fa
Can you please turn yourself down?
Ritalin kids doing cocaine wipe outs.
Mares.
Always so damned aggravating. Always looking to fight, to fuck, to prove something. They always want to be stronger, faster, meaner. Phynn gives very little attention to the growing pandemic of these mares. They squawk and cry and bitch about everything, anything. Perhaps this in why Phynn is here...to make them recognize where they belong.
Now let's remember to set the scene. The large black stallion is glinting under the sun, the white of the snowfall and ice having hurt his yellow eyes and suddenly a rather loudly pin-pricked hussy just saunters right up and says that HE is in HER way.
Fuck that sideways with a big ole bag of dicks.
A slice of yellow slivers from the dark socket to look over this large beauty with the least amount of effort. It seems as though time is halted till he finally swings the large skull to look at her from his height. She is mouthy, angry, and pretty sexy but nope. Sorry toots, not today. "Go around." The two words rumble from the depths like the sound of tires over gravel, slowly crushing and grinding against one another.
He didn't have time to play with silly mares and their awkward little ways to get his attention. Long gone are the foalhood days of attraction. If the lady was looking to find a way under him, well that could certainly happen but as for anything else? Nah. Move along woman. Go use your desperation with another.
P H Y N N
Can you please turn yourself down?
Ritalin kids doing cocaine wipe outs.
Mares.
Always so damned aggravating. Always looking to fight, to fuck, to prove something. They always want tobe stronger, faster, meaner. Phynn gives very little attention to the growing pandemic of these mares. They squawk and cry and bitch about everything, anything. Perhaps this in why Phynn is here...to make them recognize where they belong.
Now let's remember to set the scene. The large black stallion is glinting under the sun, the white of the snowfall and ice having hurt his yellow eyes and suddenly a rather loudly pin-pricked hussy just saunters right up and says that HE is in HER way.
Fuck that sideways with a big ole bag of dicks.
A slice of yellow slivers from the dark socket to look over this large beauty with the least amount of effort. It seems as though time is halted till he finally swings the large skull to look at her from his height. She is mouthy, angry, and pretty sexy but nope. Sorry toots, not today. "Go around." The two words rumble from the depths like the sound of tires over gravel, slowly crushing and grinding against one another.
He didn't have time to play with silly mares and their awkward little ways to get his attention. Long gone are the foalhood days of attraction. If the lady was looking to find a way under him, well that could certainly happen but as for anything else? Nah. Move along woman. Go use your desperation with another.
