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It was only in the quiverring of dusk and dawn that the serpent morphed into a spirit of a former yonderly self. Absently he paced the woodland without much care for speed or destination, a genuine thrum in his heart for the world he commonly cared so little for - the pulse of the wind, the beating of the sticks and branches on it's tide all created a mysterious symphony that evoked emotion most would think Toulouse incapable of feeling.
For one who's skin had turned from silk to chain mail the beauty of nature always found it's way though. Establishing immunity to sticks and stones and words that broke bones had not been a challenge for this gelding, but great beauties such has these were altogether a different story. Resistance to that kind of weakness was somewhat hard to accomplish in his experience. It was as the sneak slithered through the threshold in one of these rare, yonderly, spirit-like states that the palomino came across a gathering. Still not realising he had in fact wandered so far from the central meadow, the curly-haired beau strode forwards to meet the growing audience. Whether or not he could actually be bothered to socialise on a day like today had slipped his mind and, almost instincitvely, the golden one began a slow and calculated approach. “The trees and the snow aren’t going to talk back, if that’s who you’re speaking to.” There were words spoken by a woman similar in colour to himself, a bright horn lighting up her countenance like a jewel. A pretty thing, but she was wrong. The sussurrus, urgings and the whispers from the trees was not a voice to be ignored. Messengers as old as stones they were, standing in their places for more generations than any could ever imagine. The trees were spies and they were love letters - If the power is possessed they could tell you anything you wished to know... a power he himself was not fortunate enough to hold any longer. Another doe stood present, this one holding mutations remarkably dissimilar to his own. A hybrid perhaps? A siren? He had heard of the creatures as a child, the long-time paralian always frightened that he would be lured to a watery death by such a monster. This one, however, did not look so fearsome. Offering an introduction, Toulouse noted her name: Syrena. The next he recognised easily from his herd; this was Sacre, a healer. The blood-marked fox boy reminded him of youthfulness in a way that didn't complerely floor him from irritation as most ludic ones did. In short, Toulouse did like him. "Herd-brother" Toulouse whistled his greeting to the onyx gent with a great sarcasm, one only identified by the smirk upon his maw. Taking his place on the near-side of sacre it was then that his pearlescent eyes found that of the subject in question. The brontide of her wings in the cold, the psithurism of each ruffling feather against the breeze might make even the hardiest warrior shiver. A woman cloaked in lightning, shrouded in electricity. The vixen's magnificence washed over him for a brief moment, his eyes tranfixed upon her own as a brief few seconds counted before he finally spoke through the silence. "Have the welcoming committee offered you a snack and a browse of their herdland's loveliest bouquets? I heard the Dragon's Throat has managed to grow more than one cactus this Birdsong"
the motherland don't love you, the fatherland dont love you. so why love anything? the faithless; they dont love you the zealous hearts dont love you. and that's not gonna change. ut deo.
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scoots around the threshold
@Azulee
I AM THE KEY TO THE LOCK IN YOUR HOUSE—
DO NOT CRY OUT OR HIT THE ALARM
YOU KNOW WE'RE FRIEND TIL WE DIE—
EITHER WAY YOU TURN, I'LL BE THERE
OPEN UP YOUR SKULL, I'LL BE THERE
CLIMBING UP THE WALLS
SO LOCK THE KIDS UP SAFE TONIGHT
CLOSE THE EYES IN THE CUPBOARD
DO NOT CRY OUT OR HIT THE ALARM
YOU KNOW WE'RE FRIEND TIL WE DIE—
EITHER WAY YOU TURN, I'LL BE THERE
OPEN UP YOUR SKULL, I'LL BE THERE
CLIMBING UP THE WALLS
SO LOCK THE KIDS UP SAFE TONIGHT
CLOSE THE EYES IN THE CUPBOARD
