[open] 's wonderful, 's marvelous; any

[Breckin]

She stood, bristling as the wind roughly pushed past her.  A garbled sound somewhere between a huff and a cough became lodged in her throat, never quite coming to fruition in favor of clenching her jaw and shivering as the sun watched.  It was fully exposed though apparently useless and cruel in its unwillingness to share some of its warmth with her and she squinted at it with a contorted expression - as if her gawking might make it change its mind.

Before long, her awkward attempt at scolding the sun was starting to give her a headache, or rather, make her already aching head begin to magnify in intensity.  That huff that had been stuck in her throat finally worked its way out, and she dropped her dark gaze back to the dim world around her.  With a few blinks, her vision began to clear when the shadowy haze of sun blindness finally dissipated.  The day itself was actually clear, aside from the sputtering gales from the sea that so very much seemed to like to use her as their favorite target.  So why did everything still feel so....obscure?

The sea crashed behind her, the gulls screamed nearby, the sand was smooth underfoot.  Other than the sun apparently throwing shade and the winds being busy trying to sway her instead of the tall grasses up ahead, it should have been a lovely day.  It felt like anything but.

A solitary ear flickered northward before the leopard mare plopped herself down again with as much grace as an overdue walrus.  Stretching her head outward, she rubbed her chin into the coarseness of the sand, relieving the itch of a pesky spot before becoming too exhausted to move again.  Some strange gut feeling inside tried to tell her it would be best to keep moving along, but attributing the feeling to hunger was way easier in that present time.  And with a lazy shrug, she settled on hunger.

With every exhale, the rivets in the sand in front of her nostrils grew deeper and time continued to bleed by.  Just how much time was necessary to pass, she wondered, until she could recall where she was?




OOC: she died and her memory is wiped so she has no idea who she is or where she is.  

[Dacre]

The sound of ocean waves reminds him of a distant, unconscious memory. The hush of the waves against the sand and rock calls him to a safe place - before his mother had evicted him from her body. A place where he could hear her heartbeat and feel the vibration of her voice as she spoke. He hadn’t left that place so long ago. But, the sea salt water lulls his eyes to close and remember, and he smiles that smile that is always too wide.
 
He is young still, his legs long and gangly, his hair at an odd length, and the richness of his bay dun hide unfaded with the grey that will surely come. He is a child, nearly a year old, just brash enough to wander from his mother’s side to find trouble or the sea. 

He has seen so many things in the short time he has been alive. He knows that this world is bigger than Tephra, bigger than any of them, and yet he looks to his grandfather as if he owns it all. He knows he has some semblance of family in Taiga, but since their visit there when he was still wobbly on his legs, his mother had never spoken of it, and Dacre never asked. Too young to understand the tears, the hurt, and the hate. 
He doesn’t need to understand. Not now. Hate will come in time. 

He likes it here on the edge of the territory where the ocean takes the sand from beneath his hooves and casts it out into the depths. He needs the water like he needed his mother’s milk (before those needle teeth grew and she taught him the taste of the hunt instead). He usually has the beach to himself and the wind, and he revels in solitude - the feeling of freedom. He has yet to learn that loneliness is a trap that everyone falls into at sometime or another. 

His gold flecked eyes open lazily at last. His belly rumbles with hunger, so he decides the wander the shore in search of anything that may have become stranded on the beach (easy pickings). 

He has a starfish hanging from his teeth when he notices the spotted mare laying in the sand. Perhaps he would have seen her sooner if his nose hadn’t been searching the sand for morsels. Rather awkwardly, he slurps the insides of the pink, five legged critter and then his needle teeth make short work of the husk that remains. Gingerly he licks his needle teeth in an effort to clean himself up a bit as he approaches the prone figure. 

“Hello.” he says - his voice not unlike that of the ocean - calm, but powerful despite his youth. “Are you alright?” he asks. 

@[Breckin]

[Breckin]

While she waits - for what she has no clue - the leopard mare tries to pass the time.  The clouds in the sky are counted, and the shells half-buried in the sand are categorized by shapes, color and numbers at least five separate times.  At some point, the lullaby of the beach symphony and the dull rays of sunlight carry her into a brief, restless slumber.

Something tugs at her tail and though at first she is highly inclined to ignore it, its annoying persistance is enough to make her lift her head.  Apparently the greedy sun had sunk lower, and the tide had swelled, evidenced by the way the strands of her pale tail floated and shifted with the flow of the surf drawing ever closer.  A smart girl might've grown somewhat concerned for her well-being, a wise woman might've pushed herself up and moved along with her day.  But the hollow mare was neither of those things and so much less.  Where her world began and ended was the view directly in front of her and the vacancy of a purpose could not move her.

Her ebony chin collides with the sand again, though not before those dim brown eyes of hers follow the path of a yearling searching for something.  Mildly invested, her ghost hued ears shift forward, the own line of her sight moving as he does, especially so when he seems to take notice of the heap of a mess she appears to be.  She doesn't know it, or rather, couldn't be bothered to care, but she looks like a salt-encrusted, sun-bleached sea urchin.  Practically skeletal in stature, the piece of driftwood nearby would appear to have more girth and substance than she had flaunted in a long time.

His absolute voice is loud and foreign to her.  How long had it been since someone had spoken to her?  He has earned a fractal of her interest, but still she doesn't make an effort to raise that disheveled head of hers.

"No," she responds placidly.  And looking back, she concludes that at one point in time she must have had some semblance of selflessness and some grasp on manners - or so she can only hope - because she reciprocates with a sincere, "Are you alright?"


@[Dacre]