.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
02-11-2014, 08:51 AM
Open for anyone. <3
Mauja Frosthjärta
It was at times like these that he hated his blaze. The thin silver stripe sat at the center of the bridge of his nose, perfectly imperfect with its slightly uneven shape, and emitted a faint glow. After his crystal escapades he'd rested up, and taken off in a different direction, passing a roaring waterfall on the way, and gradually the road he'd been following grew darker and darker. And the glow spreading in front of his eyes made him gloriously blind. It was superbly skilled at ruining his night vision, by preventing him from ever having it.
Oh, how he hated that damned blaze and its veil of light sitting just in front of his eyes. He was a walking torch with no benefit at all from it, but everyone could see him.
Splendid. Just brilliant.
The presence of walls fell away. Drafts stirred the dry, cool air, and the ground had changed from the usual rocky footing to soft sand. Mauja paused, unwilling to step too far into the dark, unsure of what he would see, or find, or if he'd ever find the way back if he went into that vast shadowy sea. Blind as a bat he turned his head from side to side, but saw only the silver glow from his own face. It was.. depressing, really. He was white anyway, so what did he need a blaze for? And why on earth did he need a glowing blaze? It was so stupid. So stupid, and he turned his head from one side to the other again, but still saw nothing. Of course. The glow wasn't going to go away, so he was never going to see properly in this blackened room. He'd do best to just turn back the way he came, carefully retrace his steps, and return to the mossy room where he at least could see something. And eat. You couldn't eat sand.
He lowered his head, muzzle brushing over the still grains. The air here was pleasantly cool without being cold, and if the smell—the faint movement of air—was anything to go by, it was a large cavern he'd found himself in. But how large? Slowly, closing his eyes and trusting in his spatial sense of awareness, Mauja turned 180 degrees and felt the sand for the uneven shape of his hoof prints. Their edges were a little wet from the frost still, and with his whiskers trailing just above the ground he went back to the cave mouth. His little adventure in the crystal maze had taught him not to go somewhere without taking note of the way, and so, he reached inside. He'd spent nearly all of his magic in the flight to safety, but it had since recovered somewhat, though he hadn't wanted to touch it—hadn't had a reason, either, but the slight effort would've sent his head pounding. Today he actually felt a bit better, but didn't dare trust it to last.
Gently he coaxed a thin spire of ice from the sand, letting it rise neatly at the base of the cavern wall. It was just a nub, jutting less than half a foot above the surface, and knowing he'd marked the entrance he put his nose against the right-hand wall and began to walk, to figure out just how large the dark space was.
Oh, how he hated that damned blaze and its veil of light sitting just in front of his eyes. He was a walking torch with no benefit at all from it, but everyone could see him.
Splendid. Just brilliant.
The presence of walls fell away. Drafts stirred the dry, cool air, and the ground had changed from the usual rocky footing to soft sand. Mauja paused, unwilling to step too far into the dark, unsure of what he would see, or find, or if he'd ever find the way back if he went into that vast shadowy sea. Blind as a bat he turned his head from side to side, but saw only the silver glow from his own face. It was.. depressing, really. He was white anyway, so what did he need a blaze for? And why on earth did he need a glowing blaze? It was so stupid. So stupid, and he turned his head from one side to the other again, but still saw nothing. Of course. The glow wasn't going to go away, so he was never going to see properly in this blackened room. He'd do best to just turn back the way he came, carefully retrace his steps, and return to the mossy room where he at least could see something. And eat. You couldn't eat sand.
He lowered his head, muzzle brushing over the still grains. The air here was pleasantly cool without being cold, and if the smell—the faint movement of air—was anything to go by, it was a large cavern he'd found himself in. But how large? Slowly, closing his eyes and trusting in his spatial sense of awareness, Mauja turned 180 degrees and felt the sand for the uneven shape of his hoof prints. Their edges were a little wet from the frost still, and with his whiskers trailing just above the ground he went back to the cave mouth. His little adventure in the crystal maze had taught him not to go somewhere without taking note of the way, and so, he reached inside. He'd spent nearly all of his magic in the flight to safety, but it had since recovered somewhat, though he hadn't wanted to touch it—hadn't had a reason, either, but the slight effort would've sent his head pounding. Today he actually felt a bit better, but didn't dare trust it to last.
Gently he coaxed a thin spire of ice from the sand, letting it rise neatly at the base of the cavern wall. It was just a nub, jutting less than half a foot above the surface, and knowing he'd marked the entrance he put his nose against the right-hand wall and began to walk, to figure out just how large the dark space was.
A million miles from home, I'm frozen to the bones, I am... a soldier on my own, I don't know the way.
