Don't Trust the Shadows { Any }

[Mentalio]

The foal - she considered herself an adult - had wandered away from Ischia to where she assumed the forest is. It was different than before the earth had changed herself, and Mentalio was often heard cursing under her breath. Her stumbling made the young filly loath herself, as she was used to wading out into the ocean off Ischia's shore.

When the sun finally started to lower towards the horizon once again, opposite where this day's cycle began, she wasn't stumbling as often. But she still made such a racket that she may as well be trying to wake the entire land of Beqanna up; yet nobody seemed to hear her. Or maybe she was just in an isolated area where she's alone. She preferred to think it's just because she's alone.

[Sunday]

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Sunday is always one to put on a brave face.
When Beqanna shifted Sunday was sleeping peacefully under the moss that grew over her body. She's known to do that from time to time - to hibernate and awake a new creature, refreshed. The land gave her magick and when it saw fit, it took her back in and recharged her. She never minded, it was a small price to pay for the ability to help her sisters.

But the times were changing, and once she left the Mountain she felt it all leave her. The ties to the earth, the peace and serenity from the foliage - their voices were silent. She could still empathize with the others but it was stunted. Tampered. Where she once saw vibrant colors of their aura she saw nothing now. Her smile doesn't waver, and she doesn't complain because of all things Sunday is patient.

It will return, or it will not. That's all.

She finds the Forest to be a soothing place to calm her mind. While Nerine is beautiful it is too open, too exposed. She longs to hide once more among the great branches and trees of any type of forest. She finds it now, content to sit in the darkness until night falls.

But the sound of rustling leaves wakes her from her reverie and she turns to see a foal stumbling in the dark, then looking rather perturbed by it. Sunday makes her move from the shadows and gives a soft whicker to announce her presence, nodding her head to the foal. "Are you quite all right?"

SUNDAY

never put your faith in a prince. when you require a miracle, trust in a witch

[Mentalio]

She jumped when the mare spoke from behind her, no realizing she had been followed. "Uhh.. I.. I guess?" She stammers, her ears back as she slowly backs away. She stumbles over a root sticking up while she's backing away, and she falls onto her rump, looking much like a sitting canine. She starts to stand up, looking around her.

She'd come to the landless forest to escape from everyone and everything. She had made sure so well that no-one had followed her from Ischia.. But still, she cannot escape socialization. So she speaks, after many moments of hesitation. "Who are you?" She asks the mare tentatively, her voice shaking and small. Her legs are not cocked, as she is not very comfortable with the current situation.
@[Sunday]

[Sunday]

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Of all things, Sunday is pleasant.
Where others appear sickly sweet with their smiles Sunday is always genuine in her affections. She wants only to be kind, to spread kindness and goodness and warmth. It used to radiate out of her as part of her magick, now it can just be read on her face. The gentle slope of her withers, her unimposing height, the gracious twist of her mouth. Sunday does not step closer to the foal despite her toppling on herself. She knows distance is needed, so she extends her head in her congenial way, waiting for the other to approach and bump noses. It's a gesture of "come to me when you're ready." That was Sunday's way.

"I am Sunday," she says by way of greeting. "I didn't mean to scare you, I often come here to be alone. Sometimes the kingdom life can be overwhelming." She says this with honesty and a shrug of her shoulders.

SUNDAY

never put your faith in a prince. when you require a miracle, trust in a witch