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Treacherous was the path that led through the mountains and into the oasis of the Aurora Basin. Larkspur had traveled it once, though in far worse shape than she appeared now, and even then she had a guide to keep her from straying too far and to certain death over the edges of the hidden, snow laden precipices. However, now the midnight mare required no aid in traipsing the dangerous mountainsides. She navigated the trails and paths through the scattered basin trees with ease, clambered with practiced agility and poise through the rubble and rock littered ridgelines. She had come to find some semblance of solace in her time spent in silent observation, moments in which she could be left to linger in her own turbulent thoughts, unbothered and unhurried by the rest of the world passing by around her. Never in her youth had she considered herself a recluse or a loner, but more often than not during the nights she spent traveling beneath the lights of the Aurora Borealis, she watched herself from a distance, a figure falling slowly into the welcome abyss of isolation.
It was during one of her promenades around the Basin’s outer borders that the unicorn spotted the invader, a rather large creature of ivory complexion against the spring greens of the foliage and stone grays of the mountains great expanse. Larkspur was nothing if not diligent, assiduous, industrious and meticulous in her study of what went on while she watched, a guardian of the utmost dedication and devotion. Her past haunted her, yet in another way entirely it was what drove her forward, forcing her to strive for perfection and purpose, to make up for the blame and the guilt that she carried upon her shoulders- a permanent weight. She stood like a statue, poised and looming amongst a graveyard of fallen rocks and boulders, a creature created of a fall sky at twilight, obsidian tendrils of hair like a river, black and overflowing as they fall haphazardly in tangles across the strong arc of her neck. Upon a backdrop of burnt cerulean her gilded eyes shone, like flames they lingered in unwavering scrutiny of the stranger who has so boldly breached their borders. Larkspur is flawed in many ways, but one thing she does not lack is loyalty. As with any allegiance there is a price to be paid, and she does so with her unwavering devotion, her resolute faith in those who had taken her in when she was at her weakest. There is no questioning or mistaking the fierce gleam of fortitude that radiates from the depths of her golden eyes, locked and steadfast upon the figure of the hornless mare. Anger festered like an open sore, infected with abhorrence and rotten with resentment, and she thought briefly of her father’s broken and battered body, a lifeless entity amongst hundreds of others upon the blood stained battle field. His death was a constant reminder of her incompetence, her inferiority, but it also served to fuel her rage and feed her frenzy.
If Larkspur could have snarled, like the beastly mountain cats that called these very lands their home, she would have. With movements not to unlike a prowling beast she doubled back from her watchful ledge and began circling around the trotting figure of the equine, skirting skillfully over stone strewn paths littered with the remnants of spring life, until she had placed herself directly in the mare’s path. Her tasseled tail whipped in agitation, black tendrils stinging the thin skin of her flanks and curling like vipers around her pasterns and her hocks, a clear sign of her unrest. Her refined visage was raised proudly, muscles coiled beneath the taught skin of her arched neck, golden eyes burning with unmatched intensity. The black and ivory brindled horn upon her brow bestowed her birthright of superiority, and she wore the token proudly, not hesitating to threaten the approaching stranger with the aim of its sharpened edge in her direction. Larkspur was a soldier, driven by duty and further fueled by the restless fire of ferocity. As much as she would have enjoyed advancing on the trespasser, brash decisions and thoughtless actions would be of no help to her now. Instead she worked like a finely tuned machine, driven by meticulous and perfectly practiced instinct, trained to asses situations and follow orders. It was not Larkspur’s place decide this newcomers fate, for she was nothing more than a guardian, and she would remain steadfast and unyielding until those who could arrived.
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