05-20-2015, 03:14 PM
 The day is nearly at its halfway point when she smells them. Cats, she thinks, though the scent is muted by something far more familiar. It’s been ages since she’s seen a puma prowling and slinking around the lower part of the kingdom. Usually, the solitary creatures remain lofted in the mountains, snacking on the red deer and wild hogs that dare to venture higher. One this close to the equine residents speaks volumes of their hunger and desperation. But as much as Talulah appreciates the circle of life - the need to feed – she can’t stand for one attacking a Dalean. Not when there are vulnerable children among them. She heads for the border, at first debating whether she should leave Ramiel behind or not. The safest place for him would normally be the lower bowl of the land (where everyone gathers beneath the mindful gaze of the mountains). But their population is rather sparse; safety in numbers isn’t applicable here. Ultimately, the metal mare leaves him behind (though she leaves too quickly to see him advancing behind her, in spite of her warning to remain in place) knowing that she far more well-equipped for claws than he ever will be. Turning away from the boy is difficult, however. She senses that her son will not accompany her much longer. He’s growing up, growing taller and more independent every day. Already, it’s been nearly two years since his birth. It’s hard to believe the quickness of time, the impossible ebbs and flows that don’t exist but seem to. Almost as if something greater than any of them is holding the strings, toying and manipulating their lives with little effort or forethought. Lately, the shifting has been palpable. Change is on the horizon, she can feel it to her core. She wonders if the cat has, too, wonders if it has been unwillingly shaken from its perch. Talulah’s nostrils quiver with the scent as it draws her nearer. She’s tense and ready (and wholly untrained) for any action to come. Her eyes sweep the treeline, and where she expects a coiled cat itching to pounce, she sees two horses instead. One is familiar to her (the gentle giant from the meadow - Kreios, was it?) They are definitely the source of the smell, though, as well as the distinct sagebrush of the Deserts. The lady has met with her fair share of sand-lovers, and she smiles warmly at the pair of them. (while inwardly somewhat perplexed). Ramiel, deciding it is safe enough to approach with his mother’s relaxed posture, moves to stand alongside the silver mare. She’s too relieved to chide him for his small and out-of-character rebellion. “Welcome to the Dale,” he says, his grin a little too wide not to be acknowledging his disobedience. He, too, remembers the man with the horns, so he directs his next words to the mare. “I’m Ramiel.” The yearling is polite and eager, well-trained in diplomacy at least, if not remaining in place. His ears prick forward to catch the woman’s name. Talulah steps forward then, filling in where her son left off. “Hello Kreios, I hope you’re faring well?” She turns to the pretty mare next, her eyes drawn to the markings and jewels that adorn her skin. She doesn’t know the affiliations that either implies - another mystery to this strange day. “I’m Talulah. What can we help you with today?” lady of the Dale |
