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01-07-2013, 03:57 AM
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LYNX Exile. It is a word that sends dread coursing through most horses, fill them with images of being completely alone and forsaken. Yet, Lynx finds it to be almost enjoyable, or at least familiar. There are downsides, or course, such as the curse placed on their little band by the Sun God, and he finds himself missing some of the Throat members, but overall it hasn't been too terrible, being an outcast. He is used to being alone, used to fending for himself. It is the lack of purpose that bothers him the most, the feeling of being useless. At least in the Throat, he had been able to help in small ways, patrolling the borders and bringing home new members from the Threshold. Here, there were no set borders to defend, no home to lead others to. Still, at least this extra time gives him the opportunity to graze more often. The desert had been somewhat lacking in good grass, and that coupled with the horn that mangles his face has resulted in the buckskin’s rather gaunt frame. Warily, he lowers his head to the tall grass of the Meadow, eyes scanning for danger. The God’s curse had already made itself known once before, setting a small fire that could have easily gone out of control had it not been smothered immediately, and he has no wish to be surprised by another sign of divine temper. Yet, he slowly begins to relax as nothing happens, focusing less on his surroundings, and more on attempting to eat without causing himself too much pain. He has discovered that if he only uses the right side of his mouth, his deformity mostly behaves itself, sending only twinges through his jaw rather than agony. A sudden feeling of unease, of not being alone, floods his senses, sending his head up abruptly, alert for any danger. The curse again? It would make sense, for the God to pick them off one by one rather than attempting to wipe them all out at the same time. Well, Lynx won’t be taken without a fight. He half rears, both in a silent challenge, and in an attempt to see over the tall grass.  |
