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There are moments where time is a thick taffy being so slowly pulled apart, where each step takes minutes and each shift in your stance takes hours. You can see each beat of the birds' wings as it sweeps golden wings upwards and downwards, the glint of the beady night eye shining as the sun pours golden light over the earth. The Basin, once encompassed in shadow, stirs as it is flooded with delicious gold, gold that ever so stealthily creeps over each blade of grass. Tor likes to imagine there are little nymphs flying, fire-nymphs with jewel eyes and translucent wings fluttering, garbed in red and yellow flame with crowns of ash upon tiny white faces upturned. They paint each blade of grass speedily with a brush of burnished auburn, and with another thin brush, delicately sketch in the shadows, add in little white veins of detail where the night meets the sun. More nymphs flutter over the water of the lake, their wings alighting the water in a glistening halo of pure light before it settles to a beautiful blue of Ophelia's left eye.
Tor stills her rapidly thumping heart, inhales the sweet clandestine air so pure. The world is silent. The basin in the Steppe seems to hold its breath, only the gentlest of exhales of the winds sets the verdant green tundra grasses swaying, sparkling in the dawn light. Dawn. The sky is a water colour, mostly a faded blue towards the upper half of it, but there are marbled pinks and yellows that curl and melt together in the lower half. White clouds, thick and soft rounded things that take up the air, are painted with yellow gold on the bottom with faint rose hues. In a moment, everything will revert to normal speed, but right now everything is tantalizing slow, allowing Tor to think over every wrong she's done and is doing.
The sun has not yet lit the insides of the dark caves, and so the draft is uncertain whether or not Mirage may be watching. Her great heart skips a beat. It was a wrong thing Tor was doing for the right reasons, attempting to save a mare who she had heard many great things of, while endangering her peaceful mission to the Basin accompanied by Rafe, Phaedra, and Avira. Surely Ktulu would not be happy to be hear of her foolishness, meddling with business not her own. It is my business. Tor told herself quietly, firmly, inside her head. Mirage had released her from captivity under Lace. Freedom for freedom. An ally. Mirage had offered her safety in the Edge while the storm had been brewing. There were some complications in life- life was always going to be complicated. She must at least try to help a mare of valor and good deeds, even if the Qian had driven the unicorns out from their home.
The stallion was smaller than her, at least. Tor believed that was to her advantage, her being a draft with quite a bit of brunt behind her blows, but she wasn't sure that made up for her clumsiness. Of course, the horn was the probably, the pearl sword on the guard's head. Even if she could heal herself after battle, it would not be pleasant being stuck with the giant toothpick. He was of warmblood breed, more slender than her, lithe. Speedy, perhaps. Actually, he wasn't too bad-looking- a pale dun with a lion's tail. Eyes of amber stone as well, which reminded her distinctly of Lace. But Lace wasn't running around stealing leaders. One day as a younger mare, she may have found him more than just 'nice-looking'.
Her heart lay in another place, even if Lace did not return her love.
There was a snap as the crystalline world shot into normal pace, the brilliant sapphire skies glowing. Dawn was the start of a new day. Let me win and set her free. Tor gave one last prayer to the gods, and the world sharpened ever further. It was time to give it her best shot. The grass rustled as the large mare rushed forward, ears pinned to ivory skull, rearing up, white teeth bared to snap behind his night-colored ears. She must be careful not to smash herself on the ivory horn, but he would either rise up or be crushed by her forward momentum onto him, as natural horses fought. There was a tightening of her muscle as she rose up onto thickly feathered hind legs. It was no original attack, she knew, but it was a movement well-used for many years of history, because it delivered with such force and strength behind it.
"talk talk talk"
move move move
think think think
WC: -falls over- 782
Attack: Charges and rears up, aiming to crush him and bite behind his ears.
OOC: 1/4 + 0/1 Defense Post
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![[Image: winter_snow_by_ladyfey-d5g626q.png]](http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2012/271/6/a/winter_snow_by_ladyfey-d5g626q.png)
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(JUDGE) price to pay [xan, challenge]
