.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
11-16-2012, 07:10 PM
This was a new place, a stranger place, for sure. It was...a little bitter, a little bit colder, a little bit cramped. Tree's every-damn-where. The sparkling slick stuff that cracked the earth and killed the sweet-grass spread across the ground like miserable spiderwebs. Cal could snort clouds of frost fit for a dragon. A better place, perhaps? That remains to be seen.
Weary on, gotta trudge through sorrow, Calvariam sang in her mind, gently humming a tuneless melody in the back of her throat, Gotta look for that lended ear...
Enough is never enough, unless it makes your legs move and your stomach heave from the pain of it. An answer-less question is always asked, and your response reflects your rank in life. There are truly no answers, but the answer you give is the essence of your soul. Cal's response was to move. To walk, run or fly; to leave that wretched place, because she was done with it.
Done with what?
Does it matter? The question was asked, and Cal gave her answer. Earth-shod hooves stamped on the dust-less ground, careful to move around that sharp, jutting stone or those bramble-covered vines. Trees reached for her with brittle fingers; she shook her mane carelessly, frightening the shadows, the branches pulling out more and more hairs from her sinuous neck. No matter. They will always grow back.
Cal continued to sing.
Our souls bleeding, wandering, crying; Waiting for that sweet redemption..
The forest around her was empty, and her thoughts seemed to be morose and on the verge of heartbreak, but the mare was content with herself. Humming and grinding her teeth, she walked slowly, but she was deliberate in her pace. She shuffled her wings, feeling the bitter air through the gaps of her feathers, the soothing touch that caressed her hot skin. Enjoy the little things, she always said.
Weary on, we trudge through sorry, looking for that lended ear...
She was ready for something new and fresh. The world had a sense of humor with wishes like that, but Cal was ready for whatever irony or fate or whatever the hell her name was to throw something her way. It was the spice of life, and life didn't taste good without a little salt. The older mare walked on, passing through the invisible gate that led the way to a Stranger, Bitter, Colder place that had the potential to be Better.
(OOC: Somewhat generic first post, I know. Please bear with me. I'm still trying to figure out how to do things around here *like make a friggin' table*)
Weary on, gotta trudge through sorrow, Calvariam sang in her mind, gently humming a tuneless melody in the back of her throat, Gotta look for that lended ear...
Enough is never enough, unless it makes your legs move and your stomach heave from the pain of it. An answer-less question is always asked, and your response reflects your rank in life. There are truly no answers, but the answer you give is the essence of your soul. Cal's response was to move. To walk, run or fly; to leave that wretched place, because she was done with it.
Done with what?
Does it matter? The question was asked, and Cal gave her answer. Earth-shod hooves stamped on the dust-less ground, careful to move around that sharp, jutting stone or those bramble-covered vines. Trees reached for her with brittle fingers; she shook her mane carelessly, frightening the shadows, the branches pulling out more and more hairs from her sinuous neck. No matter. They will always grow back.
Cal continued to sing.
Our souls bleeding, wandering, crying; Waiting for that sweet redemption..
The forest around her was empty, and her thoughts seemed to be morose and on the verge of heartbreak, but the mare was content with herself. Humming and grinding her teeth, she walked slowly, but she was deliberate in her pace. She shuffled her wings, feeling the bitter air through the gaps of her feathers, the soothing touch that caressed her hot skin. Enjoy the little things, she always said.
Weary on, we trudge through sorry, looking for that lended ear...
She was ready for something new and fresh. The world had a sense of humor with wishes like that, but Cal was ready for whatever irony or fate or whatever the hell her name was to throw something her way. It was the spice of life, and life didn't taste good without a little salt. The older mare walked on, passing through the invisible gate that led the way to a Stranger, Bitter, Colder place that had the potential to be Better.
(OOC: Somewhat generic first post, I know. Please bear with me. I'm still trying to figure out how to do things around here *like make a friggin' table*)
