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01-31-2016, 10:49 AM
(This post was last modified: 01-31-2016, 10:50 AM by Albrecht.
Edit Reason: Tags, man, tags will end me.
)
Circular ripples pulse away from the stallion’s bearded chin as he dips it into the clear water of the Basin lake seeking refreshment, but it’s not the waters movement that catches his eye. On the opposite shore stands yet another unfamiliar face, nearly blurred into the backdrop of whites and greys by her unusual striping and washed out colors.
Agitation pricks the elder’s hairpin sensitivities, drawing his tufted tail across his flanks as if to shoo the feeling away. Is it such an unreasonable wish to have just one moment of peace and quiet? He roams the valley’s inner quadrants to familiarize and investigate, not to be caught up in activities and conversation every five seconds, but the mountainous walls of the Basin loom above him, seeming to find continual amusement in corralling the old man and forcing community interaction from his angry, hermitic ways.
Well mare or no mare, he has no energy today for painting, cleaning, or any other conceivable waste of time and effort. The girl is well acquainted with the Basin or else the sentinels have shirked their duties. More movement tilts his gaze aside, this time latching onto the slinking, threatening pace of Deimos the Reaper.
Now there is a man of action. The Lord of the Basin seems to spill across the landscape like a wildcat streaking impossibly quick and smooth behind some hapless prey. Albrecht waits, watching, unwilling to intervene where the Reaper chooses to reap, but as he nears the silver mare his actions soften. The black cannot hear what words are spoken, but he arches a brow in curious wonder. What lies between the stranger and his king to sprout such unexpected civility?
Agitation pricks the elder’s hairpin sensitivities, drawing his tufted tail across his flanks as if to shoo the feeling away. Is it such an unreasonable wish to have just one moment of peace and quiet? He roams the valley’s inner quadrants to familiarize and investigate, not to be caught up in activities and conversation every five seconds, but the mountainous walls of the Basin loom above him, seeming to find continual amusement in corralling the old man and forcing community interaction from his angry, hermitic ways.
Well mare or no mare, he has no energy today for painting, cleaning, or any other conceivable waste of time and effort. The girl is well acquainted with the Basin or else the sentinels have shirked their duties. More movement tilts his gaze aside, this time latching onto the slinking, threatening pace of Deimos the Reaper.
Now there is a man of action. The Lord of the Basin seems to spill across the landscape like a wildcat streaking impossibly quick and smooth behind some hapless prey. Albrecht waits, watching, unwilling to intervene where the Reaper chooses to reap, but as he nears the silver mare his actions soften. The black cannot hear what words are spoken, but he arches a brow in curious wonder. What lies between the stranger and his king to sprout such unexpected civility?
@Rhiannon @Deimos
![[Image: 56c616e54affc]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/56c616e54affc)
