Dröm ♞

He is quick to counter the girl's argument, narrowing his eyes and speaking like a wise elder he pretends to be. Though he may be a King, Czar, Warrior, Leader, those titles do not reflect the amount of intelligence one possesses. In her day, the mare has witnessed many vacuous individuals attempting to lead herds, and perhaps the stallion before her is no different. Though he spoke with authority and command, his words were not clear to the Sweddish mare. She too, narrowed her eyes. The Berättare flicked her golden tail, snapping it against her grey hocks. A cloud of dust left her hide and drifted away on the wind within seconds. The small girl was focused and determined, her eyes glued on his. She was prepared for the worst, as she was sure now that the stallion would not leave without her on his hip as a prisoner. She will be in ankle shackles within minutes. It was as if she could already feel the cold metal knaw at her gentle hide, ripping hair from skin and rubbing the raw area until blood surfaced. She wondered if the bite of cruel metal against open wounds would hurt as much as loosing her freedom, a thing she's loved since a filly. Well, that and her virginity. Those things made her different than the neighborhood whores, who no doubt slept around to get their way out of chains and locks. Dröm, however, would never succumb to such a low that she uses dicks and balls to get her way.

"Do not chastise me, Czar. You may be a king who is strong and attractive with words that demand to be heard and a presence acknowledged, but you have no right to scold me. I am not part of your herd, nor do I wish to be. You may think me scum, but I am still as much of a horse as you are. Fight me, if that is what you wish, but do not tell me what and what not to do, for I find that I have a little itch that only goes away when I do the opposite of what kings say." She finished her little speech with courage and confidence, mentally patting herself on the back, even giving herself bonus points for that little rhyme towards the end. What she spoke was not totally true, for she did usually listen to commands given by leaders, regardless, she wanted this king to expect attitude, sass, and comebacks for everything. She stood still, and though she looked as if a gentle breeze would knock her clean off of her hooves, it was clear there was still fight in the bag of bones known as Dröm.

Her once-velvet upper lip twitched with anxiety. It was clear that he sought blood, his brutality unwavering, but it was unclear how he would come about it. She knew well that his bones were hollow and wings delicate, like any pegasus, whereas her bones were solid through and through, seemingly unbreakable. His body towered over hers. It was a body built for war, a cruel body that could obliterate everything in it's path. The fact that he was so large, also meant his speed was not great. Dröm had leverage here, there was no way such a hulking form could be quicker than the lean Arabian. She has great stamina, something she hopes he doesn't have. Perhaps she can just tire him out then escape. Yes, that will have to do. There is no other way to go about this. Unless, she gives up and allows him to take her to his land as a prisoner.

With an aggravated flick of her tail and a sort of moan that indicated her annoyance and frustration (most likely towards herself), she decided. Her decision might be seen as foolish, cowardly, but it was the right choice, especially when there is a fit beast challenging such a frail and small girl. "You seek to cause damage on me, but I seek injuries not on you. Take me prisoner, I will not fight." She wanted to be brave, she wanted to accept this for all it was, but it was hard giving up, it was something she rarely did. It was defeat. The fire that had bloomed within her soul has died away, leaving just a broken heart and a tattered soul in a flaxen body.

Like some sort of scolded hound, she hobbles towards him, her head hanging low and steps cautious. The sensation of a hunger so great it was nearly painful, had vanished in time, as if her body stopped demanding it and therefore gave up trying to get it. It felt as if she was full, even though her body was deteriorating away with every second. The mare had high energy in the morning, right after waking up, but would grow weak and tired by midafternoon. There was no fuel to keep her going, and she knew she was withering away, but she had no motivation nor desire to feel healthy and well, not when the inside of herself felt as if it had been tossed into a dryer and set on 'tumble mode.' This wasn't a case of anorexia nor any other illnesses similar to that. This was depression. Maybe? Actually, no one is sure why she has stopped eating, stopped trying, but she has.

ooc: originally, I was going to have Dröm fight, but I've decided to have her just not try. Dröm gives up. @[Kaj]

"chatting."

_shoot for the ^{s t a r s}