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  • Beqanna


    Wolfbane -- Year 210


    "She presses into him greedily, hungrily, and demands more. She does not know how to be gentle when she is with him—does not know how to quell the aching in her belly, the neediness in her touch. She would devour him whole. She would sacrifice herself completely. She would give and give and give—" --Tabytha, written by Laura

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    [open]  On a foolish, fragile spine; any

    somehow you lost your wonder in your quest to feel alive

    Wind and rain, the passing of a storm: leaves still dripping with water and the frost just beginning to form… this brought on the crunching noise beneath the thudding hooves and shifting weight of the ghost that glided and walked in a directionless and slow way. Leisure or or simply lethargy, she carried onward with a weighted heart that left her expression severe and heavy- and the mare seemed to care little for the way the grasses brushed against her legs or how the flowers swayed as petals fell to the chilled earth.

    She sighed, reserving a single thought in her mind: ‘All things will die.’

    Pausing herself near a young birch tree, Cthalpa turned her attention to the peeling white bark and the deep brown and yellow beneath… the exothermic patterns of bugs and birds: the heat signatures of creatures in the distance. Draconic in a way, the slit pupils contracted and their brilliant green-hazel color brightened as flecks of gold blossomed in the iris and faded periodically.

    Thicker in build than some would credit her for, she was a warm or cold blooded breed wise, likely, and seemed easily tall in comparison to some. The silver-grey coat riddles with white hairs and her mane and tail seemed different as they were black and thick… long and curly and a single color all together. Perhaps it was the fact that she lacked her mother’s coloration; but she found herself at an end when she recalled Aodhan: a cousin or some relation who spoke of their family.

    Patient and quiet, she lipped at weak petals and clovers, nibbled on dying food sources and found herself taking more note of the cold spots in her vision. Frost lined leaves and dead briar: the wild roses and poppies gone… and imprints of bedded deer beyond the trees. Her ears swivelled at sounds, and she looked out to assess and determine those who approached: curious and calling out to them with a sound.

    Still? She stood slumped and without poise, lethargic and lost to some overwhelming rue that remained in her eyes. 

    slayed your hope but didn't let yourself know it had died

    PVP: On
    Severe Injury, Permanent Mutilation, and Death Permitted.
    Mostly, the Pampas is dormant for the winter. Snow blankets the deep sweet grasses, and where the wind brushes the snow away from the ground, frost still turns the foliage below to silver-tipped decoration. Her very bright world has gone to muted monochromes, and so now instead of being one bright thing amongst the wildflowers her mother so adores, her copper-and-gold pelt is the brightest thing around, adorned as she is by ever-grooming flowers wound into her mane and tail.

    The filly is playing by herself, frolicking in the shallow snow as puffs of white powder are kicked up around her feet. Spinning, spinning, dancing amongst the imaginary other creatures only she can see. An obstacle course, a race, a quest – even she is surprised and shocked out of her imagination when a spin ends and she’s faced with someone who is very much not a part of her vivid fantasies. She hasn’t met many strangers in her life, but she does remember her mother’s lecture about what’s ‘polite’, and it stops her from rushing forward to enthusiastically greet the mare.

    It doesn’t stop her from taking a couple of bouncing, sudden steps forward and smiles, as she tries for words that don’t trip off her tongue. “H-hi!” she stammers, head tilted. “I’m Noma! Are you new here?”

    daughter of Noah
    devin's∇designs, inspired by Kyra; image lineart by chronically @ DA


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