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05-14-2014, 05:07 AM
en natt så kall och månen den var klar
He could've laughed. Why did this always happen to him? First Brisa (how was she? well, he hoped), and now this stranger girl. Trapped, and unable to get free of their own, needing their knight in shining armor—useless.
He dreamed, idly, of the day he'd have to rescue a stallion.
"Stop that," he said softly as she tugged on her stuck hair. Large, cold hooves brought him closer, his steps gentle and graceful despite the mass he carried; he chose to ignore her girlishness and giggles. He hoped they were nothing more than embarrassment at her own situation. He didn't want them to be anything else.
He didn't see her eyes drop, his own fixed on the mess of her voluminous hair. Mauja had a lot of hair himself, but he was glad it was of a more manageable length—he couldn't recall a time he'd ever been this stuck. Sure, it tangled, and sure, sometimes he stepped on his tail or his mane stuck on something and he had to tear himself free, but he'd never gotten himself this completely trapped. It didn't seem fun, and it seemed kind of painful, and he wondered how on earth she imagined him rolling a log away would get her free, when she'd tangled everything up in it all. He'd just yank her head down even more, or something like that.
Why couldn't these bothersome mares ever be easy to rescue?
She introduced herself was Abishia, from the Falls. Falls? What falls? Briefly, he glanced at her face, then back to the problem at hand. "I am Mauja, of nowhere." It was tempting to say he was no one at all, but he was trying to keep a rein on his bitterness. "And I think it's better to just try and cut your hair free. It's tangled up everywhere." His dark muzzle hovered above the taut chestnut-and-white locks. Oh, if only d'Artagnan had been here: his broken glass horn would've been perfect for this bizarre kind of job.
He dreamed, idly, of the day he'd have to rescue a stallion.
"Stop that," he said softly as she tugged on her stuck hair. Large, cold hooves brought him closer, his steps gentle and graceful despite the mass he carried; he chose to ignore her girlishness and giggles. He hoped they were nothing more than embarrassment at her own situation. He didn't want them to be anything else.
He didn't see her eyes drop, his own fixed on the mess of her voluminous hair. Mauja had a lot of hair himself, but he was glad it was of a more manageable length—he couldn't recall a time he'd ever been this stuck. Sure, it tangled, and sure, sometimes he stepped on his tail or his mane stuck on something and he had to tear himself free, but he'd never gotten himself this completely trapped. It didn't seem fun, and it seemed kind of painful, and he wondered how on earth she imagined him rolling a log away would get her free, when she'd tangled everything up in it all. He'd just yank her head down even more, or something like that.
Why couldn't these bothersome mares ever be easy to rescue?
She introduced herself was Abishia, from the Falls. Falls? What falls? Briefly, he glanced at her face, then back to the problem at hand. "I am Mauja, of nowhere." It was tempting to say he was no one at all, but he was trying to keep a rein on his bitterness. "And I think it's better to just try and cut your hair free. It's tangled up everywhere." His dark muzzle hovered above the taut chestnut-and-white locks. Oh, if only d'Artagnan had been here: his broken glass horn would've been perfect for this bizarre kind of job.
Se dem brinna över verkan se dem dansa framför bål
Se dem mässa inför satan se dem smida sina stål
Se dem mässa inför satan se dem smida sina stål
