|frost|

|frost|

Willow Posts: N/A

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01-16-2013, 01:03 AM

WILLOW & ERMINE

.arborun lignea .. .mare. ..23 years. .. .16.3 hands.

It is with relief that Willow soon finds the boy is not one to be offended easily. Too often has she encountered those with skin so thin it's a wonder one fly bite doesn't leave them dead. Perhaps she's at a disadvantage of understanding those sorts though, having something more akin to bark rather than flesh for a hide, even if only figuratively in some areas.

His eyes never seem to stop opening wide with his disbelief and for a moment Willow's afraid he might faint. It wouldn't be the first time, but it didn't make the event any less embarrassing. He finds his voice in the least, her worry quickly shifting to humor once more at his words. "All of my kind are named Willow," she responds, the mirth evident in the way her syllables tilted high. It's difficult not to laugh when everyone thinks such strange things on what has always been normal to you.

"What were you running for?" she asks curiously, the query waiving away his unnecessary apology. "Training?" she guesses, assuming that he like most other fit colts strives for the warrior's path. She wondered if she had been born a colt if she would have felt differently about war.

For a moment they seem to regard each other, both blinking in the yawn of silence, green resting on blue, chocolate shifting besides wheat. His question comes then with no suddenness. She could almost see it forming behind his eyes as he grappled with the existence of her being. It's a strange sensation to have the probability of your life eternally evaluated. What he asks takes her by surprise however, for it is not one of the common ones. Most wonder about pain, movement, or for the more crass, sexual positions.

She nods her head in response even as she begins to respond in detail. "There is no rudeness in curiosity," she responds evenly, naturally falling into a teacher's tone. It's difficult not to when horses who think themselves mature are almost always still younger than she. "And yes, I do. I am called a Lignea, and for every plant you see around you, there is a horse like me connected to it. It would be a cruel fate if we had to eat the grass knowing our brothers suffered." She smiled wanly, aware of how this news might be disturbing or even, unbelievable. It would not be the first time she had been called a freakish liar and driven away for making fellows grow sick at their every meal. "Luckily for that type of Lignea, their grass covers a great deal of area and they face no threat of perish except with unkind weather or over-grazing," she adds hurriedly, not wishing to add the weight of murder on anyone's shoulders.

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Messages In This Thread

|frost| - by Willow - 12-26-2012, 05:53 PM

RE: |frost| - by Cyrus - 01-03-2013, 07:05 PM

RE: |frost| - by Willow - 01-09-2013, 01:32 PM

RE: |frost| - by Cyrus - 01-09-2013, 07:13 PM

RE: |frost| - by Willow - 01-16-2013, 01:03 AM

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