surely as the sun will rise

surely as the sun will rise

Saphiron Posts: N/A

Unregistered

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03-30-2014, 06:53 PM

In a rapid blood-curdling descent, a blanket of pristine ivory races up to greet the pegasi mare with all the enthusiasm of a friend once astray. There is a fresh layer of snow sprawled about, slowly swelling as a flurry of soft cottony tufts twirl lazily to the pale earth supporting it. She finds herself landing gracefully with a tight swoop, contrasting the gunshot hellfire freefall; dark hooves save a mismatched cream-colored one dig into the shimmering powder now surrounding her, marring its perfection with malformation and a smear of dirt. After shaking out those large wings of hers with their clean-cut lines and rich darkly shaded peacock blue feathers, forcing a few loose, she surveys the area just outside a mammoth wall of trees, the mountain looming high above in the scrim like some great and sleeping stone giant. Vivid harvest moon eyes, framed by sweeping lashes, peer out from a cimmerian face of aristocratic angles and precise contours; their fever-bright gaze soaks in everything with a wild energy.

Soon she moves on after a derisive snort. A bird delicacy to her figure threatens to overwhelm the lean muscle that shifts and strains against a velveteen coat of cinnamon and cocoa. Devilishly long, limber legs that take up a good portion of her petite height carry her with a smooth gait as the icy breeze runs its ghostly fingers through the thick silk of tender white-rose that makes for her cascaded waterfall of a mane and tail. She can't help but shiver, the tremor racing its way down her back before spreading as a cold slush through her limbs. It was uncomfortable, although this light storm was far from dangerous. For now.

Breaching the prominent forest line quickly sends her into another world. Here the wind has difficulty following her and a grave hush settles in with a sense of timelessness. She absently notes its cruel, misleading beauty, as gnarled and spindly branches seem to reach out toward her with desperation and malignant greed, casting bold shadows that seem too broad and deep for their source. This place was simply part of an itinerary; she had no designs to stay, but fatigue turned her bones into lead. Despite the malevolent isolation and uncanny demeanor of this place, she ceases her stroll and takes the moment to brood in front of a trench like an inverse butte while ignoring her unease; its stream has been frosted glass for quite awhile.