Stories had been Cheska's first language. Tales of fools and gods and magic had been passed on to her since her infancy, like a fragile torch to guide her. If she closed her eyes and wrung her mind, she could almost remember the first night she'd spent beside her mother, with the mare's soft voice singing her the legend of the clever young nomad who had stolen fire from the gods. She remembered every word, and it was the first story she'd passed on to her own filly. Since then, they had served her as amusement, security, and sacred tradition. She had no more foals of her own to whom she would pass the secrets, so she had nursed the torch safely in her heart… until now. Though she'd found herself thin on an audience recently, the urge bubbled up from inside her, warm and familiar.

She found the Rotunda the way she had been discovering most things recently- by nearly tumbling headlong into it. She'd been following the hushed sound of voices and the familiar trampled path of common grounds. In her excitable haste, she quickly found herself narrowly avoiding the grand columns that marked the grounds. Immediately, she was reminded of the tale of the wise queen Aristae, and the great, white fingers of the giant that she'd eluded. It was a tale that was supposed to deter children from theft, but as she gazed upon the parallel columns, she could practically picture five bony white fingers diving into the earth, caging the clever unicorn queen.

She wandered the area for a short time, meeting the eyes of the few who'd gathered there with a warm smile or dip of her crown. She soon found herself just outside the structure, near a small assembly of others who seemed as though they could use a distraction. Conversations had gone quiet and hooves shifted, impatient to return to their comfortable herd lands.

Above, a raven called in a low cackle.

She looked up towards the bird, and let the story float back to her, piece by piece. Only once she was sure she could remember the tale did she speak. "Did you know that raven was not always black?" she offered conspiratorially. "It's quite the story…" She met the eye of a near foal. "Interested?"


count] 385
tags] @[Zèklè] @[Breccan] @[Volterra]
ooc]Open to any foals and anyone interested in meeting and greeting.