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04-17-2016, 08:52 PM
Blackness.
It was something the fierce mare detested. Feared, even. Along with those of the sky. She rarely blinked, so crucial was sight to her. Her overlarge eyes collected light even in the dimmest, deepest depths she dared to dive.
And so this sudden, inexplicable blackness left her immobile, rigid, and furious. Teeth peeled back, her tail barbs rattled ominously, fins flared (though the ripped one hung limply), and her ridges stood on end.
She had left her battle on the flats— left that demonic, skulled equine— and headed north, towards the Bloodfalls. Though she did not trust that water, it had been warm the last time she bathed in it. And, amid this frozen land, she needed warmth. But, in her travels, she had been lost amid a sea of tall, pole-like plants of the Green Labyrinth; and had ended in the cold, dark depths of this Forest.
This was so unlike anything beneath the sea. The trunks were thick; kelp was thin and spindly. The ground was hard few things grew beneath it; the kelp forests were abundant with life. Her ears laid back as she wandered, slowly the blue-bleeding wounds on her skin clotted. Though her shoulder bruise fiercely ached as she had not yet rested it.
And it was tin this injured, uneasy predicament that the blackness found her.
Sharp teeth snapped once, blindly, as her webbed hooves dug into the frozen earth. Though the canopy was too thick to allow much snow to reach the floor. A snort left her ridged nostrils, large eyes stretching even larger in her war-painted face. And then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone. Light blinded her eyes as her ears swiveled, trying to discern the above-water noises.
She felt more than heard the warm being behind her. Spinning, her ears went flush with her ridges, ringed irises constricting pupils to pinpoints. “Who are you?” her low growl fiercely rent the cold, muted air. Gaze rakes over the white giant that stands before her.
He is tall, he is strong, but he is old. Age lines the muscles that leap from his hide, just as it rings his light eyes. Briefly she notes the long, silken mane— a good handle for manhandling in battle. “Why—how do you take my sight?” Her guttural voice is punctuated by rattles of her tail; never has she felt so cautiously violent.
It was something the fierce mare detested. Feared, even. Along with those of the sky. She rarely blinked, so crucial was sight to her. Her overlarge eyes collected light even in the dimmest, deepest depths she dared to dive.
And so this sudden, inexplicable blackness left her immobile, rigid, and furious. Teeth peeled back, her tail barbs rattled ominously, fins flared (though the ripped one hung limply), and her ridges stood on end.
She had left her battle on the flats— left that demonic, skulled equine— and headed north, towards the Bloodfalls. Though she did not trust that water, it had been warm the last time she bathed in it. And, amid this frozen land, she needed warmth. But, in her travels, she had been lost amid a sea of tall, pole-like plants of the Green Labyrinth; and had ended in the cold, dark depths of this Forest.
This was so unlike anything beneath the sea. The trunks were thick; kelp was thin and spindly. The ground was hard few things grew beneath it; the kelp forests were abundant with life. Her ears laid back as she wandered, slowly the blue-bleeding wounds on her skin clotted. Though her shoulder bruise fiercely ached as she had not yet rested it.
And it was tin this injured, uneasy predicament that the blackness found her.
Sharp teeth snapped once, blindly, as her webbed hooves dug into the frozen earth. Though the canopy was too thick to allow much snow to reach the floor. A snort left her ridged nostrils, large eyes stretching even larger in her war-painted face. And then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone. Light blinded her eyes as her ears swiveled, trying to discern the above-water noises.
She felt more than heard the warm being behind her. Spinning, her ears went flush with her ridges, ringed irises constricting pupils to pinpoints. “Who are you?” her low growl fiercely rent the cold, muted air. Gaze rakes over the white giant that stands before her.
He is tall, he is strong, but he is old. Age lines the muscles that leap from his hide, just as it rings his light eyes. Briefly she notes the long, silken mane— a good handle for manhandling in battle. “Why—how do you take my sight?” Her guttural voice is punctuated by rattles of her tail; never has she felt so cautiously violent.
men have drowned
in seas such as these
in seas such as these
Please tag Aquila in all posts.
