CAENAN
I ain't no magpie
But I do fancy meself some treasure
It is not the first time that the trouble-maker has happened upon such intriguing beasts, and it is also not the first time that his stunning green gaze had become drawn to the sight of the softly glowing sphere. The familiar sensation of a hungry flame licking the insides of his very being begins to creep into his small frame, and the horned colt knows that he simply must have it. The ominous and over-powering aura that the masked spectre radiates isn't even enough to send the mesmerized colt away, because his desire for the orb in its possession is just too powerful.
Humorously long limbs stumble over the uneven ground as Caenan pushes his frosted-barrel through a line of thorns, ensnaring tufts of his hair in the probing branches. For a moment the buccaneer's tail is snagged in the twisted bush of spikes, and the colt has to fight a tremendous amount to wrench himself free from nature's clutches. With a triumphant look plastered across his childish face, the frosted stag starts up his parading jog once more to meet with the ghastly figure face-to-face, but his pride is soon replaced by horror. Instead of yanking his tail out of the thorns, he yanked the thorns out of the ground, and the boy was now galloping across the meadow, his backside and flank constantly being pricked by the needles, and his body reacting in sheer terror.
With flying kicks and twisting bucks, the horned stag is still unable to disentangle himself from nature's prickly fingers. So desperate is he who was just acting all high-and-mighty, that he actually begins to roll in the dusty earth, causing several puffs of dust and dirt to flare up and cake onto the buccaneer's bay hide. Without so much as an ounce of intelligence, the colt has instead made his situation far worse, for he did not realize that the bush that had become a part of him as of late was not, in fact, the only bush in the meadow.
Cries of shock and pain resonate from his small mouth as more prickles bury themselves into his hide, and he quickly abandons his original plan and jumps back onto his feet. No amount of shaking can dislodge even the tiniest fragment of thistle from his soft baby-fur, and reaching around to grab at the branch lodged in his banner doesn't seem to work -- until his curved horn is added to the mess. Both in fear and in pain, Caenan wrenches his head back and two miraculous things occur: his tail, although missing more than a few strands of fuzzy brown hair, has rid itself of its late inhabitant and his curved weapon, which had freed his tail of the cursed plant, was now adorned with a natural weapon of its own; a whole bundle of tiny little weapons, to be precise.
Exhausted and more than sick of dealing with the world as his current situation stood today, the long-limbed stag snapped his narrowed green gaze onto the dark figure, his eyes beginning to well with tears of embarrassment. He was fed up with it -- it and it's stupid need for entertainment -- and Caenan was more than ready to let it know that it could go to hell. But... there was indeed something comical about the decoration he had managed to gain out of the whole thing, and the little troublemaker could feel that his velvet lips were beginning to curl upwards with the start of a smile.
Table guide;
"Speaking colour."
thinking
important text
stand out text
Notes;
Words; {Companion: Hellhound - Water Ability.}
Tag;
![[Image: 2ryqd14.png]](http://i45.tinypic.com/2ryqd14.png) |
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Play & be played. [non-specific mythical companion]
