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12-18-2013, 04:28 PM
 Alina was woken from her half-sleep by a clinking sound. She had been napping far out, near the border of the Dragon’s Throat; she couldn’t recall why, but it didn’t matter now. She opened her emerald eyes and not so far away she could see the metal wall - half finished and untouched ever since the dove arrived at the desert. She shivered a bit when she followed its length with her gaze, the wall seemed so looming, so threatening, even though it was probably meant to keep them safe. It was just the thought that there were things that had to be kept out that created a slight worry in the young mare. Though she did bear the sign that there were unfriendly horses out there; the ugly scabs from her burns were clearly visible on her chest, belly and legs.
Turning away from the wall Alina shuffled her downy wings slightly. But then she noticed the light figure standing just were the unfinished wall ended. Was someone working on the wall? Forgetting herself Alina took a swift step forwards in her curiosity. The sudden stretch of her skin caused one of the scabs to open and pain shot though the dove. It was a dull pain though; first stinging slightly and then aching. She grimaced and a low grunt escaped her, but she continued moving; however carefully. Before she was even close enough to call out to it the white silhouette of a pegasus turned and started walking away from the wall. Alina was making slow progress and her emerald eyes watched as her person of interest crossed paths with another desert dusted horse. This one was a champagne colored unicorn and Alina’s curiosity grew. What were they up to? Being a mare who often jumped to conclusions Alina soon made up her mind that they must be working on the wall and since she was a member of this herd she felt compelled to help. Well she wanted to help. When she finally reached the duo she greeted them with a smile. ”Good evening sisters!” she said. ”I see you are working on the wall, is there anything I can do to help?”  Märk hur vår skugga, märk, Movitz mon frere Inom ett mörker sig slutar Hur guld och purpur i skoveln, den där byts till grus och klutar Vinkar Charon från sin brusande älv och tre gånger sen dödgrävaren själv Mer du din druva ej kryster därföre, Movitz, kom hjälp mig och välv Gravsten över vår syster! |
