Her head feels lighter, unburdened by the weight of antlers, and Asena could swear she is faster for it. The world around her is a palette of muted winter shades, cool blue-greys and deep navy blacks, blurred together with the speed of her pace. In the dim light of dawn, the Meadow is quiet and nearly empty. She comes to a halt near the center of the grassy plain, pale clouds of exertion streaming past her lips.
Thirsty, the pale haired girl follows the scent of water to a creek deep enough to flow even in the winter, and begins to drink. She does so slowly, for the water is like ice in her belly. Steam rises faintly from her purple coat, and Asena knows that soon she will be colder than she can stand. Living in Ischia means that her coat has never changed from sleek summer shortness, and it does naught to keep her warm on this early winter morning.
The wind picks up, pulling at the white mane that falls along the length of her spine, and she wraps her tail across her back in an effort to keep warm. She’ll rest for a while, catch her breath. Then, when she is either rested enough or cold enough, she’ll start back toward Ischia – or perhaps somewhere else that’s warm. The world is her oyster, after all. She need only crack it wide enough that she finds a pearl worth keeping. Stepping away from the water, Asena looks around for a tree or brush as a windbreak, and instead finds that she is not the only horse awake in the Meadow at this early hour.
@[Affirmative] A S E N A her hair was long, her foot was light,
and her eyes were wild
i don't like slow motion double vision in rose blush
i don't like that fallin' feels like flying 'til the bone crush
______________________
The sudden darkness frightens her just as much as the next child.
All at once, the world goes (mostly) black, and Folklore finds herself even more alone than she is already used to. Realistically, she knows that she shouldn’t be frightened, even as she uses her powers to adjust her eyes to that of an owl - owls have some of the strongest night vision, and though it is still dark, she can see a little bit better than before.
Even still, she is terrified.
She has heard the whispers of these Monsters, these Others, but she has been blessed so far to have not met any of them. She would probably be an easy target for them - she is young and has barely even come into her own power, and it is very likely that she would just curl into a submissive puddle at the feet of one of the monsters.
So she keeps to the edges of the more populace meeting areas such as the Meadow, though since the darkness fell it has been quieter than usual. Everyone is wary of these monsters, it seems, especially during the cold winter supposed-to-be-mornings. She doesn’t venture into the wide open spaces of the Meadow but instead stays near the the river that flows along the border. It is an easy escape if she needs it - though hopefully she will not need it.
Her eyes fall on the girl standing near the water’s edge, with her tail wrapped oddly over her back. They are close enough to speak if they were to raise their voices, but Folklore is still hesitant to speak. She takes a few steps closer to bridge the gap between them, making sure to look into the distance to make sure that none of the shadows at the edges of her vision have danced any closer. “Do you know what happened to the sun?” she murmurs when she is close enough.
folklore
what must it be like to grow up that beautiful?
@[Asena] this is only like months overdue
Before the Darkness, Asena was rarely without decoration. Today, she wears only her own skin, and the tail that she drapes across her back for warmth is a dull and faded purple that is far less eye-catching than her typical snowy white plume. (It still matches, she assures herself, she’d given herself that at least). It had been a strange – and sudden – adjustment, and it is one that the young woman still struggles with. Her fathers had asked that she stay home, or rather: Asena is sure that they would have if she’d gone home. But she hasn’t, not since the darkness began.
It has been terrifying, and somehow wonderous all at the same time.
Possessed of an immortal heart, the ability turn herself invisible, a body that heals itself in the blink of an eye, and her father’s illusionism, Asena is remarkably well suited for a life alone in the darkness.
She’s seen the monsters from far closer than she’d wanted, but they have never once seen the flower-covered purple mare. The first one had smelled her, before she’d remembered to cast the illusion of scent, and the third one had heard her breathing, forcing her to cast the auditory illusion of hoofbeats running quickly to the eat. These days of darkness have honed her abilities far more quickly than her soft life in Ischia had, and Asena is feeling rather proud and capable when she finally comes across another living creature.
Asena remains visible, and allows her tail to fall away, her head raising so she might better see the pied stranger. That is about all she can see in the darkness – that her same age companion is some dark color with white – and Asena huffs quietly to herself, attempting to puzzle through the issue before Folklore sidles closer, close enough to speak.
As she does, Asena spins her magic into the air around them, a very softly glowing orb not unlike the moon – were the moon the size of her hoof and the same perfectly purple shade of her skin. It casts them both in soft light, and she is careful to share the illusion of light only with her companion. Any others will see them only in darkness, and hear only the now-slightly-louder chatter of the water between them.
The purple light reveals Folklore’s worried expression, a marked contrast to Asena’s curious interest in this stranger. The dun girl knows to be wary of the monsters, but the same abilities that make her fearless against the monsters work equally well with unknown horses. Just slightly less cautious, obviously. Though the other appears to be a near match to Asena in age, something about the question she’d asked, or perhaps that she had asked it of Asena and would trust her answer, reminds the young Ischian of her own siblings.
“The monsters took it,” she answers, retelling the story that she’s pieced together from her own observations and quick conversations with strangers. “Or I guess, they’re keeping it hidden? It happened after the Alliance, and the monsters have been everywhere since.” Everywhere including here, she does not say, though the quick way she’d fallen silent and looked out to the north make it clear she’s seen something. Not a something that comes nearer, though, and after a moment she looks back at the other girl, who is covered in a rather striking nebula of stars. “I like your stars,” Asena tells her admiringly, “Would you mind if I tried them on?” Hopeful for assent, the purple and flowered expanse of her sides become instead a canvas of stars, each of them glowing faintly.
@[Folklore] A S E N A will I remember to put a quote here before i post?
probably not
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