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08-26-2014, 05:49 PM
Sikeax;
Ice winds screamed upon the Steppe, the first snowflakes she'd seen having finally thrown her out due to their rising violence. Every nerve felt alive and refreshed with the sensation of cold igniting them. The blizzards would then their wails whenever the monsoon season ended in the southern lands.
Left with the task of getting back to where she needed to be, a place foreign and unnatural to everything she bathed her eyes in. The trip seemed longer than before. Possibly it was because she'd been running on small legs, the same kind of night that robed her hanging in after the day hours. Only back then, every aspect to the night was different. For days there was no light, only glowing trees, the occasional flicker of light in the distance. The light of her horn never gave her the experience of total darkness through the whole time. That'd be her childhood, and because of that, she had never become fond of the brighter hours.
Mists paid her no mind, careful with every spot a gravestone shaded hoof could find a sure footing. Her ribs had came to be more and more noticeable in the months of cold air. Last minute binging would do her no harm.
Yet, as the wall of fog that shrouds the plain is pulled back like curtains being opened for a play at the theatre, she's come late to the show. A mare she knows from her headland is already there, while a smaller one of odder colouring bellows out words she has no idea are for. If she's yelling at the winged mare thoroughly coloured like Adrixaura, then Sikeax had every right to agree with them. The other Throatling had previously annoyed her when the incident with Cera occurred.
Her presence goes seemingly unnoticed if they were ignore the obvious glow of her horn, sticking out like a sore thumb. Having swung wde of them, her attention is split half-way between the pair.
"more words"
Left with the task of getting back to where she needed to be, a place foreign and unnatural to everything she bathed her eyes in. The trip seemed longer than before. Possibly it was because she'd been running on small legs, the same kind of night that robed her hanging in after the day hours. Only back then, every aspect to the night was different. For days there was no light, only glowing trees, the occasional flicker of light in the distance. The light of her horn never gave her the experience of total darkness through the whole time. That'd be her childhood, and because of that, she had never become fond of the brighter hours.
Mists paid her no mind, careful with every spot a gravestone shaded hoof could find a sure footing. Her ribs had came to be more and more noticeable in the months of cold air. Last minute binging would do her no harm.
Yet, as the wall of fog that shrouds the plain is pulled back like curtains being opened for a play at the theatre, she's come late to the show. A mare she knows from her headland is already there, while a smaller one of odder colouring bellows out words she has no idea are for. If she's yelling at the winged mare thoroughly coloured like Adrixaura, then Sikeax had every right to agree with them. The other Throatling had previously annoyed her when the incident with Cera occurred.
Her presence goes seemingly unnoticed if they were ignore the obvious glow of her horn, sticking out like a sore thumb. Having swung wde of them, her attention is split half-way between the pair.
"more words"
someday you'll see me buried in a fresh blanket of snow when we've grown very old
darkheart9595, lyotta & larfsalot @deviantart
you were angels,
so much more than everything
:: please tag me
:: minor force and power play allowed
