• Logout
  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "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


    [open]  No hammer to hold; Any
    #1
    Rainbow 


     
    Eleanor, a sprite and joyous girl wrapped in a feline skin, hopped through the field. Her paws marked the patches of dirt scattered throughout the grounds. She took great care to avoid the grass almost as if her life depended on it. It was definitely a site to see, a small black shadow making its way across the land with hopscotch flare. This wasn’t a rare day for Eleanor. She often turned life into a giant game. In her eyes she was scouring the foreign lava lands with pristine agility and courage. The tall, waving grass represented the fire fields beneath a towering, imaginary volcano. Eleanor imagined she had traveled years of hardship to meet the mysterious volcano and masterfully hop through its booby traps. The scattered bits of dirt were the only safe landing spots. She jumped. Waited, calculated, and then jumped to the next checkpoint- all the while skipping over the twirling, treacherous grass.
     
    It was only in her small feline form that she could accurately maneuver the game. Her large equine form was clunky and clumsy. Under no circumstance could she have escaped the burning draws of the lava with her slippery hooves and heavy head. Eleanor found more peace and joys in her abnormal form. She could better hide, play, and sneak through the world. If she cared to interact with another horse it often ended in Eleanor simply reading their mind and imagining herself in the conversation. It was practically like she was talking to the other horse, but without all the fuss of relationships.  Eleanor had successfully imagined herself into all sorts of conversations. She had a make shift lover, sibling, and over a dozen friends. They may not have known she was hiding in the shadows, but surely they would help her in a time of need. Either way her quiet, censored life was all right with her, and it was certainly not on her mind as she continued to jump through the field.
     
     
    eleanor


    Reply
    #2
    Through despair and hope, Through faith and love. Till we find our place, on the path unwinding.

     
    Zenith is nearly always hungry. And today, he has been hunting far too long for much too small of game. His long golden back and elbows are low to the ground, his powerful shoulders and haunches level with the tops of the meadow grasses.  He is a lion, and he pads softly towards his prey.

    He does not hunt anything equine, he never has, and probably never will. Maybe that’s why his belly is never really full. Like most days, today he is hunting his usual quarry, ground squirrels, chipmunks, maybe a coyote if he is lucky. The forest provides him with deer and rabbits, but he enjoys the open spaces of the meadow, and often finds himself here despite the lesser game.

    But all of his thought of food are dismissed when a scent much like his own, yet foreign catches his attention.  He sits upright then, all efforts for stealth abandoned, his massive head turning on his maned shoulders in search of the source of the feline scent.

    And then he sees her. Like a shooting star she appears and disappears in the tall grasses, and he lets out a gruff wuff, which is half laugh and half summons. It would be good to meet another of his kind, or almost his kind, again.
    ZENITH
    Reply
    #3
    With the chill in the wind, Mafdet prefers her smaller form. Heavily furred, with broad paws that grip the branch below her, the female looks down at the field below her. Only her tail is moving - a quick peach twitch now and again. The motion is bright against her plush snowy coat, and is signals that while she is keeping a careful watch she is not truly hunting.

    A creature her size is plenty satiated by the prey of the open meadow. The field mice and plethora of birds provide a varied and bountiful diet; Mafdet has never considered leaving this place. She's been here since she first found Beqanna after all; why leave paradise.

    For the most part she ignores the horses. From time to time she wears her equine skin, but it is only when she absolutely must. That shape is weak and fragile compared to the impressive brawn of the mixed breeds that populate Beqanna. Here, in this shape, she is powerful; muscular, broad shouldered with sharp claws and needles for teeth.

    Today is no different; the bumbling herbivores are utterly boring. Her blue eyes are watching the quivering grass instead, but the source of the intriguing motion is easily discarded at the low sound. Mafdet chuffs back without thinking about it, dropping down to the ground in a single fluid motion. Once there she crouches low, suddenly cautious.

    Who had that been?

    Why are they in her field?

    She lets out a single curious 'mew' before inching forward to peer over the low edge of a fallen log in search of the strangers.
    Reply




    Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)