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12-18-2014, 02:51 PM
 She had been studying the new growlings of Birdsong all day and night and now it was a new morning. The early hours, the hours of pinks and oranges as the sun rises slowly, those hours were spent grazing before she set onto the path that will lead her north to the Steppe and then to her dear, loving hom, the Basin. She is covered in dried mud and sticks are gnarled in her thin, silky silver hair. With her belly full she is happy to return to the thawing north, the journey is about ten miles. Her pace is the usual graceful jog, her split toes grabbing and releasing the softened earth beneath her as she flows over it. Phrixus soars above as he always does when they travel, he is set only three of four feet above her head and ten or so feet ahead. He swoops to avoid smacking any strangers travelling on the same path as them. By the time she reaches the snowy archway and passes the giant bronze sentinel it is approaching mid-day and now sweat joins the caked mud in her silver and white fur. She picks up to a canter, the stiffness peeling away from her bones as she begins to gallop with the throttle open (kicking, bucking and twisting along the way). The electricity of returning home sparks through her bones, it always feels so good to be welcomed back by the lands pumping heart and lively veins. She makes her way toward the springs, the earth turning to rock and half-melted ice as she approaches. The pale bird dances and twirls above her before landing in a mangled tree looking over the springs. He is silent while peering down at the quiet mare in one of the pools. Her running has stopped and she walks slowly up the small incline leading to the hot springs, she is startled when she sees the stranger there but does not say anything. She is silent as she slips into a neighboring pool, giving the mare a quaint smile if she were to open her eyes. Tangere’s sore muscles soak the warmth into them, her thick, shedding coat breaks away in bits as she rubs against the rough stony edges. She preens like a bird, bending her agile neck around her shoulder to reach all kinds of spots that need cleaning. She keeps an ear on the mare, perhaps she isn’t in the mood to socialize, so Tangere leaves the air quiet. Eventually the stillness will overwhelm the silver unicorn and she will have to satisfy her curiosities about the mare’s identity. AND THE DOVE OF HOPE BEGINS ITS DOWNWARD SLOPE... |
- You may use violence and magic against her at will, but no death.
- Please tag me so I don't forget anyone(:
