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A Girl's Mortality - Hellä - 02-09-2014 Here she was again, in this glowing room with her feet sinking into the the soft mushrooms. She had only been here once before, when she had met the painted mare pegasus. She hadn't really taken a good look at the place, but now that she was settled in and had the time, her nostrils filled in with the sweet smell of the mushrooms. The walls glowed with a bright, sapphire blue that Hellä didn't see so often. She beat herself with the fact that she hadn't looked at the ground in the first place. The cavern floor was filled with mushrooms, yet there was grass too. Hellä had starved herself in the past few days because her she couldn't think straight and hadn't noticed the sweet, fresh grass. She was in no shape for fighting, and would regret even trying to fight in this condition. She could barely walk straight thinking about a battle with her ribs showing like they were about to tear right through her dappled skin. The gray continued on, walking up to a small river with water as clear as the crystal. She was afraid to taste it, knowing that no such water could be as clear as this. If it was poisonous, she would surely achieve her death wish. But hopefully, it's not. She tried to comment to herself as she reached down to the river with her eyes closed. Hellä's throat took large gulps, sounding like a canon shooting a hundred pound ball from its grip. She may look like an idiot, but damn, was she thirsty. When her thirst had finally been fulfilled, she moved to the side and looked for the largest spot with the most grass. Hellä wasn't as hungry as she had been before she had taken a drink, but she still felt as if she was starving. By the time her meal would be over, she should be as fat as the dove that Abishia had called her back in the waterfall room. No one had ever called her a fat, chunky, clean bird. Birds, were dumb. She was not dumb. Hellä's muzzle moved from the mushrooms to the grass. The dewy grass wasn't poisonous; however, the mushrooms were. She narrowed her eyes at the mushrooms and snorted, watching them as they curled up into a ball-like figure. Her expression changed as she began chewing on the tender green. Her orbs began to soften and her muscles relaxed as she continued to feed her starving bodice. @[Mauja] RE: A Girl's Mortality - Mauja - 02-11-2014
Bit by bit, he was healing. The smallest cuts caused by the wolf teeth and his own incessant stumbling had healed into black, hairless scars, the tender skin still itching on occasion. The majority of them would grow over with white hair in a couple of weeks. And the larger ones.. they had all scabbed over, and no longer teared up on a daily basis. He'd even had to do it on purpose sometimes, spending painful hours lifting the scabs off with Irma's help and icing his own blood and wounds, hoping for the water to cleanse it. It seemed like it had. The last of the angry, warm welts of infection had receded a day or so ago, leaving his body to focus on the real healing work. He still moved gingerly, because the broken skin stretched uncomfortably whenever he did, and he concluded that on top of having had a fever from the infection, he'd also come down with a regular cold. Because while the infection had gone, a mild fever still lingered, and his throat still felt raw. So it was pleasant to linger in his corner of the glowing cave, either ignoring anyone who passed nearby or giving them the evil eye so they shoved off without approaching him. He did it as much for himself as for Irma, who threatened to kill anything that came close to the nest. Mauja still wasn't sure what the future had in store for them. She left the egg tangled up in his mane on a daily basis to hunt, but the better he became, the more certain he was that he'd have to start taking over that. And he was far from a good hunter. He was a horse, dammit. And thus, he found himself slowly ambling through the room, testing his limits. Moving still made his head pound, though not as vehemently, but he could do no more than walk without gasping for air and sending his heart hammering. Which wasn't all that strange, considering the state he was in. So he kept to a walk, ambled along, and peered at the multitude of horses crowded into the sanctuary. It seemed that mostly everyone had made it, given the quantity of them. So how had they found out? Followed trails? Who had figured out that this was a safe place? Why had he been left alone up there, and almost mauled to death? Not that he was bitter or resented them their safety—after all, Circuta had been up and about, trying to find stragglers—but it just seemed typical that he missed out on something vital. Sighing, he plodded along. Soon enough he'd be too well to justify sticking to himself. There were those he had to find. d'Artagnan. Ophelia. Loudmouth, Psyche, Faelene. Maybe even Brisa and Nyx, and.. even though he didn't know where he stood with the Basin, they were still his people. His ears fell back in frustration, and his eyes settled on a mare which happened to be in his path. She was incredibly thin, her gray skin hanging over a bony frame, witness that she'd been more muscled in the past. Her coat was matted, dull iron lined with sapphire in the queer lighting, hair pale with dark locks. Dapples covered her flanks like bruises. Fortunately for her own health, she'd found a patch of grass amidst the moss and glowing mushrooms, and was grazing furiously. Good for her. Less good for her, was that she managed to stand directly in his way. So he had two options. Either he stopped, or he walked into her—the third, obvious choice of simply passing beside her didn't really exist at that moment. And knowing how awkward it was to walk into strangers, and not to mentioned how irritating to be walked into, he chose to stop, maybe five yards off. His black-rimmed ears flicked forward, and he watched her with a mild kind of curiosity. Being sick sucked. It did strange things to your head. Mauja
must keep those black wings folded until the time is right
RE: A Girl's Mortality - Hellä - 02-12-2014
RE: A Girl's Mortality - Mauja - 02-14-2014
“Damn mushrooms,” she was saying as he stood there dumbly watching her, scabbed-over cuts and slashes littering his hide like a web spun by a drunk spider. Why was she even trying the mushrooms? Was she out of her mind? Then again.. it didn't have to be mushrooms that made you mad. d'Artagnan was quite proficient at finding plants that sent you through time and space—his recollection of that night was incredibly hazy, most of it forgotten except a few dim, lingering notions like.. walking through walls. It was the most absurd and illogical thing ever, and he wondered why he kept thinking he'd thought he had. It was just one of those things he couldn't quite shake, and now this worn mare was eating mushrooms. Saying they were tasty. Almost implying she was hallucinating. Well, he was pretty damn real at least, and if she implied otherwise he might smack her just to show how real he was. Though, the benefit would have to outweigh the headache. So only if she was really adamant that he didn't exist. Preemptively his ears flicked halfway back as she abandoned her patch of mushrooms and came swaggering over—because there was no other way he could describe it. The flickering of her tail only made her steps seem even more swaying, and with a sinking feeling he watched her approach. He felt like a deer in the headlights, trapped by his own stupidity at ever coming this way and his physical inability to run away. His heart was pounding, just as much from illness as from despair at his fate. Why was it always the mares? What did they see in him? What did they want from him? Even when he was covered in nasty gashes not even a week old, coat matted and eyes dull with fever—as far from frigid and graceful and unattainable as possible, even then they saw something in him, wanted something from him, came swaying over with feline smiles and mysterious eyes andandand... why?! What had he done to deserve this? What had he done to deserve having them fawning after him his entire life, charming him with magic or threatening suicide if they didn't get to bear his children? What God thought it was a funny curse? He was too tired to move away, so he just stood there, rooted at the spot as she swept her dancing hips to the side, thick tail smacking solidly against his chest. She swept on, continued her infuriating dance around his tattered body, long lashes blinking over vividly blue eyes. He saw it only because he followed her movement, and it was getting harder to doubt her intentions—a tad malnourished or not, she seemed to have energy aplenty. Or, she was just plain cruel, wanting to lure in some foolish man only to tumble him out of her bed. Well, he wasn't interested—in either scenario. He'd had enough of stupid lovey-dovey encounters, and certainly didn't want to be made a fool of. Besides, he was probably too sick to manage to do a thing right now. “What has the panting cat brought to me this time?” A sick old idiot, he thought sourly but said nothing; she prevented him from replying by bumping into him. Mauja staggered slightly sideways with a grunt, his balance not the best and damn but even that small motion tore at every healing wound, pain lancing through his nerves, but fortunately none of the lacerations tore open again. He gritted his teeth. What a jerk this female was, abusing a poor injured stallion this way—and for what? Her own satisfaction and glory? And her inconsiderate treatment of him continued. As she came up in front of him again (trying to tantalize him with the view? he still felt fairly unimpressed) her ample tail smacked towards his face, and he had to close his eyes to not get hair in them. Besides, the motion made him jerk his head to the side involuntarily, setting off an avalanche of heavy boulders falling inside his skull. Through the pounding he barely registered what she said, and it took him a few seconds of standing like that—head turned to the side, eyes pressed shut and the rest of him perfectly still—before the nauseating agony dissipated. "I'm no boy," he finally growled out, too irritated to be polite. "And you're being terribly rude." [ Grumpy Mau is grumpy :P ] Mauja
must keep those black wings folded until the time is right
RE: A Girl's Mortality - Hellä - 03-03-2014
@[Mauja] Just tagged you since it's been awhile since I've posted. c: I'm also trying out a new technique with my writing so that's why it looks different from my other posts. c: |