"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
She was drifting through life on a small string; like a kite within a small breeze. Her pace was slow and steady, her hooves barely dragging across the grass, yet she continued on her way. It had always been like this, the young mare moving slowly between each place in a constant pace. Elowen had never cared of where she was at or who was around her in the moment, yet it had never been her fault. She was incapable of what her emotions decided to take on. The coldness. The distant eyes. The thoughts that swarmed her mind. That had all come when she was fully capable of thinking for herself. Her mind had never shown signs of that utter excitement or rage. It was on a constant scale of numbness. She had given up knowing what was bound to happen. Her inability to feel was what made her walk away from her past herd. They had hated that factor. The stallions within her herd had hated the way she disclosed herself from the world, never allowing them into her head. She was like a secret under lock and key, never allowing someone else to hold the key into her mind.
They knew what they were getting into when they allowed me into their herd. Her thoughts were spinning as she walked, gently kicking the grass and looking down at the ground in an emotionless gaze. Even the hoof marks on her back that appeared to be painful were numb to her. They had tried to make her feel. They had tried to push her to fight back, yet she was quiet and subtle. She had only walked away, not being edged on to fight. Not being edged on to feel. She was distant from everyone, yet in some ways, she silently wanted something. She wanted someone to make her feel, to make her smile, yet it was impossible with her disorder.
I shouldn't have stayed when I did. I should have left sooner. She had stayed within her birth herd for three years until she was pushed off. She hated how close they were, how touchy-feely they were. She had hated when the stallions had tried to court her, how much they persisted. It ended in the scars upon her back, in the memories flashing through her mind. Which was why she left. Yet here she was, subtly walking through a field with the intentions of a home. Who would dare to ask me into their herd, though? I'm useless. Her thoughts were what got her through life, though. They always stayed, pushing her to the limit. Sometimes they broke her, yet others they saved her.
Because I am comfortably numb...
ooc: I apologize for how bad the post is. I wasn't sure how to start it. c:
08-17-2015, 06:33 AM (This post was last modified: 08-17-2015, 07:04 AM by Reuen.)
OOC: Hope you don't mind me posting. I thought it might be interesting XD
how much heartache can we take?
The shadows are much darker here, colder. The way they wrap themselves like enticing tendrils, wanton against me, like gnarled fingers hooking into all my cracks and crevasses, whispering promises to take my broken parts and make them whole, the darkness always finds a way to seep into the gaps, filling my core with a coldness, a doubt that seems to stretch over my bones, close like skin. My hazel eyes, they star out, up into the distance of the tree spires. I'm strewn across the loam, beneath the splintered bark and conifers. Gorse and brambles knot my mane, my tail. I stay silent for a moment, listening to the gentle autumn breeze, lull, whispering in the treetops.
It's happening again. I stir, I wake. Knee knocking into oneanother as I rise, transitively at first, so flinty hooves break the soil and I emerge from the shadows a chocolate form, silvery tresses falling in knots over my hollow eyes. I have found the field, again. Woken in the confines of the terrain, with no memory of how I had gotten here. The nightmares, they take me places, the shadows, they drive me out of the safety of the Gates, to make me fall victim, to make me weak, weaker even.
My pace is a dawdle, each hoof stepping in a mechanical rhythm. Not breaking the cadence that breaks the myriad of browns and oranges at my feet. I wander the outskirts, silvery tail whipping at my hocks. My thin frame was no loner emaciated, but still holds the scars, always the scars. Even Jason's magic could not take away the taint of the memory, the haunting of the scars. If only I could try, try and find out why, why the shadows chase me, why the nightmares unleash the beasts within. I even feel them now, claws and talons scratching at those closed doors. If only I could find the way to open them.
Hollowed eyes, walnuts and pecan, glass-like, like the reflections of the river in the height of the sun's light. They find the stranger first, and then my ears flicker, listening. The sound of her breathing, it fills me with a new feeling. The gentle beat of a heart caged within, it thrums against me, like my own thuds, thuds against my ribs. The feeling, the rhythm, it pushes me on and on, until I stand just before her. 'Hello.' my tongue feels stuck against the roof of my mouth, swollen with the urge for words, but like the caw of the birds in the trees, they, and I, fall silent.
There is a delicate whimsy, in the way my head sways, my body like a leaf, lost in the autumn breeze. I bend, I break. My chocolate skin, mottled with burrs, twitches against the flies, as I pull my gaze from the strange mare to the direction of the Gates. Home. Home, where it is safe, safe. 'Ghosts wander. In search of lost things, in search of home. Home. Are you looking for a home?'
Ghosts. They chase me, haunt me, over and over. And yet I am drawn to them like moth to flame. The twist of a smile pulls at my lips, curt, cruel almost in the way that teeth and flesh declare what is meant to be a gentle offering. I soon decide against it, and remain a mask of indifference. Watching the pallid mare with a curious eye, and a throbbing tongue.
08-17-2015, 09:13 PM (This post was last modified: 08-17-2015, 09:14 PM by Elowen.)
Elowen
"She's lost inside..."
The cuts had begun to burn as she walked within the field, yet with the pain came the waves of numbness. They washed over her, drowning her in a sense of comfortableness that she had become used to. It swelled up around her in a hurricane of simplicity. She couldn't remember a time where her emotions weren't caged up like a bird, bursting inside yet only to die on deaf ears. She hadn't even taken notice of the blood that the stallions had left upon her white coat. It's funny how that works out. She tried to bring in the humor, yet just like that, it had died within her, so she padded along, her orbs capturing the day with nothing by the grass underneath her hooves. It was trampled, just like her. It was dying, just like her. And yet, she couldn't seem to care anymore.
Her emotionless eyes seemed to slowly drawl their way up, up, up to mare that seemed to come from nowhere, her figure just as meticulous as Elowen's own footsteps. Yet with the oncoming mare, she stopped, her eyes somewhat hidden by the white mane that seemed to provide shelter for her. Whether it was to hide her from the world, or to hide her from herself, she wasn't quite sure anymore. She wouldn't hide herself from the mare. She couldn't hide herself from the mare. Yet as she stared through the strands of white hairs that fled in front of her eyes, she noticed the one thing that she thought she'd never see. The hollowness that mirrored hers. How peculiar... Her thoughts reeled in as she tilted her head slightly, listening to the greeting.
The words stuck in the air like a hot mist upon a rain forest, heavy upon her ears sand her body as she stared at the other mare. Was this what it was like in....greetings? How....odd. Her eyes captured the moments, the steps, and the breaths that they shared within the same field. Her eyes flickered in the slow drawl, her eyes closing so slowly that one would thing she was tired. Yet just like that, she wasn't sure how to express exhaustion. A sigh escaped her maw in what was like a breeze passing by, her head turning away from the mare as she talked once more. Her words were odd. The way she spoke was odd, yet just like Elowen, the oddness was what made sense in life.
In what way do ghosts partake in the conversation? Her thought swirled in a blinding turmoil that burned the inside of her mind, yet she stayed composed. She stared off the in the distance, her eyes never quite meeting hers. Eye contact was a thing of the past. A past life per say. Yet even with the eye contact, Elowen did not smile. Her smiles were caved in just like her emotions, never gracing the mare's lips in friendly greetings. How was one supposed to smile when all they felt was nothingness?
Elowen glanced back at the mare; no, not quite at the mare herself, yet at her hooves. Just like she had been before, her gaze was completely in the downward slope. Just as it should be in her mind. She allowed her mind to wander for a moment, allowing the daydreams into her head once more just as her disorder wanted. Her hoof pressed deep within the ground as she imagined words to say, her words turning inside of her head as she shuffled it upon the grass. If we kill the grass, will others grow? Will the bees thrive if we kill the flowers? Her thoughts wandered once again before she finally realized she hadn't spoken to the mare yet, so she glanced up. Her eyes looked at her ears before she sighed and glanced away once more.
"A home?" Elowen questioned, another sigh passing her lips as she shook her head slightly. Her head shook a tad, her mane bouncing as she tried to ignore the wounds stretching on her coat. "A home would entail roots. How am I to have a home when my roots are all chopped off?"
Silly mare. Silly mare.
---
ooc: Why would I mind, dear? You're simply fantastic, yet I hope you don't mind my horrible writing! I'm in utter awe of how wonderful you are, dearie! Oh, and I'm sorry this post is quite horrible, I had to redo it after my computer deleted it... Thank you for posting! Oh, and I adore you character, dear! <3
OOC: That is lovely, thank you <3 And I despise when that happens, it has happened quite often and I lose the will -_- Your post is lovely, your character interesting. XD
how much heartache can we take?
Scarlet filigree, tainted wounds, I know them, I feel them even now, as I glance over the pale mare's frame. She stretches bone white, and there, there are the waves of blood, rivulets of crimson that run on, and on. I feel my own scars, the thick ridges burning now, a memory, the pain. It seems long ago that I had stumbled upon the Gates, a flurry of perspiration and blood, of iron lungs and leaden limbs. My head tilts to the right, walnut eyes observing quietly, knitting together the picture of the grey mare. If there were a mirror, a gentle reflection of what I had have looked like. I am sure, I am almost certain, that I would quiver, bend and bow to my knees and wish for eternal sleep. If only, if only I could recall them, and how, the how. It is always the how, and the why, but never the when.
Twisted chocolate ears get lost in the creamy mounds of silver mane, lost within the knots of twigs and burrs of autumn's reign. They listen, gently quivering against her voice. She speaks of trees, of roots and my walnut eyes glisten, alight with a sliver of memory. The Gates, they were gloriously verdant in colour, many, many trees and seeds. They burrow into the soil, like wildflowers and mint, they grow and they grow just like the mother tree. they were all seeds once, we were all seeds once. 'Home.' I say, the word capturing my lips with a soft caress. Her quiet discontent made me feel as though, as though there were many things underneath the surface. Bone deep, sinew torn. I quiver, the very memory of blood, of fire and hate, of ash and ruin. It violates my peaceful mind for now, and I stand there, idling. Whispering nothing, and yet everything.
My eyelids close, breaching the world. I see them, the cuts, so deep that the red torrents like wine, down my ribcage, my shoulders, my neck. the ground is cool and yet throbs with life beneath. Runs red with the blood of many, ash from the cinders that fall like snow. I quiver, every inch of my skin a knot and a never-ending puzzle. I sit and explore, piecing together and together until I get some form of a picture and then they all fall to the floor and i'm left trying to decipher them over and over.
I pull my attention back to the pale mare. Wandering eyes meeting hers, burning, burning into her with an intensity that rivals the sun above, the harsh winter around the corner. 'Home. The Gates are Home.' I say once again, faded, broken and clipped. 'Seeds are sown, and trees grow. Many, many trees.' a purposeful paw at the moist earth, drawing a sense of knowing from the mother earth below. I inhale, breathing in the life of autumn, the life of the newcomer. 'You chop, you pull and you tear, but they always grow back. Given time, given time.' Gentle, gentle. My words slip and fall, gracing the air with wisps and fragments of all that I know, all that I see. But broken little girls, they see much and yet do not comprehend what it means. I see much, broken and fragmented and I piece them together in my own way.
'I am Reuen. Ruin. Reuen.' Because even though Mast and Jason, Wichita and Fiasko say, they call me gentle, they call me friend. I know, I know deep down I am ruin, I am ruined and ruin. The red eyes of my nightmare plague me, chase me, whisper sweet nothings in my ear, and over and over again, I am ruin. I cause the ruin, the pain. The throbbing scars torn over my thin frame, they are because of me, I know it, I know it.
'Who is the ghost, that bleeds, that haunts? Who is the ghost that wanders with eyes like glass?' because ghosts need places to haunt, they need an existence to live, to dwell. I step forward, closer, closer, audaciously so, extending my patchy scarred muzzle to the girl. Offering a gentle hand if there ever was one, in the darkness and in the light. I throw her that rope, that falls and falls into the eternal pit of blackness. 'The Gates can save you, like they saved me. They are safe. Safe.'
Life sucks. Let’s just get that out of the way. For some, the suckage is minimal and can be alleviated; for others, it is all encompassing and they are full of bad luck. Guess which category Belgarath falls into, and then guess which category these two ladies will fall into.
And by the way, he has a thing for the useless, the depressed, and the broken.
No one cares if he plays with them roughly, if he cracks something that already has faultlines; no one misses what they’ve never noticed.
There is something about the two mares that talk out of range that draws the stallion out of the shadows. Mostly just lazy right now, he has been content to watch and make fun of them in his mind, calling that one a cow, and the other a stick, and then just ogling the ladies with the pretty bits. His eye conveniently disregards the other stallions, as if they were just giant rocks blocking the scenery. It thrills him to know what he could do if he wanted to, but he’s been saving the ice for something special. The last couple of forays were disappointing (at best), and he’s sort of found a sadistic side. Power brings out the worst in people, corrupting the misogynistic and sexist bits into just plain old sadistic bits, regardless of who the victim(s) is.
Their bodies seem timid, one’s advance is tentative, even quivering - and Bel knows he has found his targets. The gray ghost, the ice ghost is not one that sneaks about, staring out from behind trees and disappearing from sight. The gray ghost announces his presence, his hooves are the heavy footprints on the empty floor above and the cold breath in the night. And it is getting colder, with frost that crystallizes the grass that grows around the twosome, perhaps starting to chill them from the bottom up. Belgarath approaches from behind white mare, one haunt forcefully taking control over the other. That happens, you know. A powerful demonic spirit can control others, make them do his bidding. He grins sinisterly.
Yellowed teeth scrape bluntly across the white’s flesh, trying to catch her, even if he has to take a step or two forward to catch her as she skitters out of reach. He chuckles in the back of his throat, a deep and and dark sounding noise. “Nowhere is safe, pet. This one is mine, now.”
She has once again deviated from the protection of the Jungle, of her sanctuary for the past many years. She flies quietly, her brightly colored body swooping in the air above many of the other ground equines. She does not have a path in mind, but instead just lets the wind carry her where it wished. Her wings wide, she glided cheerfully along, only occasionally flapping her wings to catch a another updraft that would keep her airborne. It was early afternoon before she ever reached the Field. She had no intentions of coming out of the sky and instead, circled around lazily as she watched the occupants below. A pair of mares in particular caught her attention and she continued to circle, almost vulture-like as she kept an eye on them. The first mare kept her head down and made little eye contact with the second, though the both seemed out of their element among the savagery that made up the Field.
To her horror, she watches as a stallion approaches the two mares. His steps are heavy and she already feels that this will not be a good encounter. With breeding season nearing, many a mare was not safe among the Field. She swoops down in her bird form, quickly shifting just before she hits the ground running. She pivots and canters around to the gathered trio. As she nears, a strange sensation whispers to her that things may not bode well for the mares, but she pushes forward. Even as she nears, she feels something on the outskirts of her mind, pushing an unknown fear into her. At first she is startled and even comes to a rapid stop, but then she remembers the traits her father had bestowed upon her and she quickly forces a barrier around her mind and pushes forward.
She can feel the fear fighting on the edge of her mind and it takes a large amount of will to keep it at bay. She cannot stop though for she knows the other two mares are in danger and continues on. She comes to a stop just shy of the group, head high and ears flat against her painted skull. "These mares will be coming with me!" she says with a snarl as she stares the stallion down. She lets her abilities wander away from her body and she can feel the three other minds that stand near her. It takes but a moment for her to cover the minds of the two shy mares (for it is not hard to distinguish them from the strong willed stallion). She knows she is not strong enough the vanquish all the fear among them, but she can keep it in check. Fear can cripple a creature, but Malka was not going to let that happen today.
"Whatever the hell you may be, you best be moving on," she snarls further as she strides forward. "There is nothing for you to gain here," she adds, pawing at the ground below her as she waits a response.
Malka
immortal, quetzal-shifting Lekh, Kosi & Erinak of the 'Zons
08-18-2015, 04:14 PM (This post was last modified: 08-18-2015, 04:15 PM by Reuen.)
OOC: Serenity/Elowen asked if I could post first. So here it is.
how much heartache can we take?
Broken pieces were never easy to fix. I have spent the year, nearly two in Beqanna, sorting through the blank expanse of my mind. Standing in the derelict room, arms outstretched, trying to claw at any fragile memory, trying in a vain attempt to clutch at even a wisp of what once was. All I know is fire. The burning, the ash. And blood. It was always the blood, wet and Crimson, worn burgundy against my cocoa coloured skin. The dark eyes, ever watchful, they peer at me from within, dark tendrils wrapping delicately around my neck and pulling, suffocating. Fingers bearing down upon my eyes, my face, scratching at the soft, fleshy scars, attempting to tear me open once more.
It's those dark eyes that I feel, swallowing me whole, refusing to chew at my tough flesh and flimsy bone. The chill in the air freezes me to the very core. Winter's harsh kiss upon my pelt, my bones. I turn my head, away from Elowen to the source. Grey and ghoulish, he plucks at my memories like a broken violin. A terribly painful serenade berating my ears. 'Cold. Cold like death's embrace.' I remember the ice, it felt as though it had been dragged through every vein of mine, filled my lungs, my heart, my very life's essence. I had tasted the bittersweet twang of death, I had it within my grasp. But someone, deadened eyes, heavy burden of deadened weight, he had saved me. Told me to run. And run I did.
My trembling worsens, my knees knock and my hocks shift uncomfortable beneath my fragile form. I slip against the ice that taints the loam, flinty hooves knocking at the ice. My hollow walnut eyes find him, they glance him in scraps of view. He is mirrored by the ice, as it dances like wispy fingers, cold, cruel. I shiver, against the ice, against the pain that drives through my body like rivulets of iron.
These are games. Games that have no winner, but take many pawns. I shake my head, silvered tresses falling in knotted ribbons over my eyes as I feel the grip tighten around me. There's nothing there, but in frozen in place. Fear, fear's henchman. He keeps me against my will, and forces me to watch as teeth glide against the newcomer.
'Safe. No where is safe.' my words fall, clumsily like glass shards from my trembling lips. I move, it feels rigid, as though iron and lead keep me in place. I thrash my head, crown rampant in its ferocity. Wild eyes find another, a bird, a bird. She swoops down and is upon us, equine form within moments.
The flashes come then, cold, ice beating down upon me to the point my knees buckle and I collapse. There is nothing there. Except the shadows, the thousand eyes staring me down. The cruel words whispering in my ear. Walnut eyes find the grey steed, the creator, the king of the frost bitten pain. I quiver, like a forgotten leaf upon the ground, silent, dead silent.
My throat throbs, stuck and swollen. Words cannot form, lungs find it difficult to expand. The coloured mare, she is iron will, wildfire against Cruel ice, and all I can do is watch, helpless, frozen in place by nothing but fear, dread. It fills me with a burdensome weight.
The slivers of hope, they tumble at my feet and blow away in the wind, and like some broken up child, reaching for them, they slip through my fingers. Lost.
Elowen couldn't quite keep up with mumbles blossoming from the mare's maw, her speech about home and the Gates. How she could be safe as well. She was never one to follow such raw language, yet then again, she was one of the ones who spoke it. Her attention fell on the ground once more, yet this time, her head ducked farther near her legs, her head dipping toward the ground in a silent whisper of a word before she leaned up once more. Why must the grass take so long to grow? Her lips parted in a deep sigh, the rise of her sides being dramatic as she took a long breath. Would the mare part from me if the sky opened up and cried for the loss of the once green grass? Her thoughts were jumbled up into nonsense, a silly ramble of words. They were nothing to her as they were to the mare, who offered up a name for the ears of Elowen. While others would speak back in a formal manner, Elowen only stared. Her dark eyes, her emotionless eyes, fluttered up her neck and to her muzzle which she reached out for her in a timely manner, yet Elowen's touch was not returned. She stepped slightly to the side, the aspect of touching another seeming to almost flutter by like one of her jumbled thoughts, allowing the moment to pass in a beating of wings.
Oh Reuen, you poor thing. One does not touch things that do not belong to them. Elowen's thoughts consumed her in a cloud of fluff, her attention drifting more and more in each passing moment. She attempted to stay sane, for the sake of Reuen, yet even then, they drifted. Her hooves shifted, her weight tilting onto one side in what seemed similar to boredom, yet for Elowen, it was much deeper than that. Reuen, does it interest you? The grass. A conversation fluttered within her head before she felt it. The ground somehow shook in her presence, her frame moving just a tad if not more. The chanting of her companion in the moment echoed within her mind, Cold like death's embrace. Yet she couldn't feel the cold. She was already cold within, her numbness encasing her unlike the cold.
Then there were teeth. Elowen's coat felt the pull of teeth on her already wounded skin, and instantly she side-stepped. One would have been afraid, maybe even terrified, yet Elowen's eyes slowly lifted in a tired manner, drifting over their new arrival. A stallion. No, no. Do not touch, dearie. In her mind she was reprimanding him, yet on the forefront, she only stared. Her lifeless eyes gazed at him from her lowered head, listening to the continuous chant of Reuen. Doesn't she know that safe is just a word one uses to deceive you? A humorous laugh parted her lips before her expression was stoic once more. She questioned silently if she should speak, to ease the Ruined Reuen, or speak to the stallion who had a lack of manners, yet before she could think of either, her attention turned toward the sky. For once she had to raise her head if only a tad, watching as a bird-like equine tumbled to the ground in the most graceful of ways. Oh my what a stir we have caused, my friend. Another thought was plucked in her wandering mind before she brought her attention toward the grass once more.
The assertive mare defended them, yet no appreciation blossomed from Elowen's maw. Her attention was captured by the grass that had been trampled upon, the grass that had flattened out and was springing back up in front of her. Just like her and Reuen, the grass seemed to spring up out of nowhere, just like the stallion and mare. They were all like the grass. Elowen listened, yet stared at the ground, as the mare spoke out at the stallion like he was no larger or stronger than her. She only listened, hearing the soft words of her odd companion that had first arrived.
No, Reuen, you're right. Not safe at all.
Yet not a single tinge of fear entered Elowen's mind; only eternal numbness.
---
ooc: Hello, dearies! Welcome to our odd party of our chaotic lovelies! Sorry for my terrible post; it took me ages to try and write a decent one! c:
here really must be some alarms system rigged to trigger every time he walked onto the Field. All the uber-protective and obnoxiously righteous folk seemed to pop out of thin air with the sole purpose of being the ultimate cock block. Why must everyone be so damn goody-goody? If you want the ladies to bolster your own kingdom/herd/sex harem, that’s fine. But just to protect them? Ugh. Gross. Get off your high horse, bird-lady.
She’s something he’s never seen before, and so he stares in curiosity at the shifting creature, ears flicking back and forth in surprise, and then amusement. She is a feisty thing, isn’t she? And so bold, to claim the mares for herself. He sneers, his lips twisting into something that clearly delights in the challenge, and it is a devilishly handsome face. Belgarath licks his lips in a predatory manner, looking forward to putting the shifter mare in her place. The other two - his intended conquests - remain silent (cowering in fear, he assumes). Belgarath cannot feel the dampening effect Malka’s mind barrier has on the others, but since she seems to be so brave, he thinks it might just be time for a little more fun.
His power is still a bit of a mystery to him; there were no others to guide or instruct him in his discoveries (and even if there were, he wasn’t likely to take on the role of apprentice). Light blue (ice blue) eyes travel to the quiet ones, and notes that one quivers in fear, mumbling something to herself, while the other’s head remains low. They weren’t going to flee any time soon. So Belgarath decides to focus the majority of his little game on the assertive one, leaving the other two on the fringe. “Yeah… I don’t think so. Bit bossy, aren’t ya? Didn’t anyone tell you that mares should be seen and not heard?” Ahahahaha. Get it? Cause he wanted one for part of his herd. Ok. Anyway.
He saw how rapidly she could shift, and knowing that she could easily fly away makes him think for a moment. What would be the best plan of attack? Ahhh. Ok. With a crackling whoosh, ice shoots out from him to the Elowen and Reuen, encircling them in a wide, flat circle of slippery stuff. He’s careful not to touch his two victims, opting to keep them closely trapped, instead. Bird-lady, however, might find her balance suddenly affected, if she chose to stay on her feet. And that ice? It burns. It hurts like hell. Literally.
So what, oh what, will our heroine do? He watches and waits, silver-gray tail flicking in anticipation.
She had never seen a mare as fearful as this pair seemed to be and it bothered Malka. She had been through hell and back and still stood strong for herself. She'd been starved, raped, beaten and had nearly died. She'd been a prisoner to both the Chamber and the Valley and yet she was still as determined and fiery as ever.
Neither mare moves to free herself and the ice creature speaks, receiving a scoffing laugh in return. "You've never met an Amazon before than?" she poses, more stating a fact than a question. Bold, outgoing nature was prominent among the Jungle mares as was the confident nature that allowed them to rule themselves without a man in charge.
Even as the continue to talk, Malka moves towards the mares seeking to herd them away from the situation. As she starts forward though, a circle of ice forms around the scared mares and Malka turns on her haunches, ears flat against the top of her head and teeth bared. "Move along, stallion," she hisses under her breath. It had been many a year since she had been in a fight, but she was not about to back down when she was well aware the lifestyle that would follow if the mares were taken by the ice man.
The ice then begins to move towards her and she leaps forward towards the stallion as if to bite him in the face. It is but a mere second though before she is no longer horse and there are now a pair of sharp bird talons driving towards his eyes. She knew not if his ice powers were limited to the ground or if he could throw icicles as well, but she was sure to soon find out.
Malka
immortal, quetzal-shifting Erinak of the 'Zons
(OOC: Sorry about the wait. I worked 6, 12hr shifts last week )
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