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10-06-2013, 06:22 PM
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He couldn't see her face, not the best, but he noted with satisfaction the water did not ripple- so he had saved her from tasting the sickly waters infested with the dead. Carnesîr's ears twitched, a flippant smile appearing lazily on his face, while a strange sensation stuck him in the gut, a feeling... well, a feeling that he had not ever experienced before, not that he could remember anyways. It was the sense he had been here before, with this lovely black mare covered in scars, tributes to the battles she had fought before. The question is heavy on the tip of the tongue, waiting to be tossed recklessly into the air, to fly at the shaggy mare's ears. How did you get so many scars? He is, after all, just a pretty boy, beautiful but weak, all soft muscles despite his dreams of romance and hard strength. Was it possible to allure and entrance when you were a wisp of a man? If he covered his slim body in scars, if he fought battles and bled and broke, would he become beautiful, handsome, strong? "It is!" He chuckles, tail curling up joyfully, his earthen eyes taking in hungrily her sparkling violet ones, wild, free eyes. Immediately he likes that about her, the will in her eyes. Would it rub off on him, if he hung about the shadow mare for long enough? More words are thrown at him, blunt questions with all grace of a rusted wood axe cutting down trees. It is not in him to be vain- in fact, he's most direct as well, and prefers the manner of which she speaks than any elusive chitchat. "Carnesîr. Who are you? A minstrel, warrior, queen, exile, ruler, follower? I bet... you're a hero. Now guess about me." He declares her as a savior, and wonders if she'll like that. The heat is slowly seeping from him, his muscles tightening as he cools off. Now that he has stopped running, he finds the chill not at all to his liking. He preferred summer rain and verdant forests gleaming with the rays of the sun. Slowly the boy's eyes drift to her crow wings, drinking in the dark feathers hungrily. What would it be like to fly? Could he ever get wings, if he tried hard? Was she born from an egg, like a bird? Did you follow me? "What a queer question," Carnesîr murmurs, ears slanting back uncertainly. Should he say yes? No, it would be best if he said no, of that he had no doubt. "I would love to follow around an intriguing mare with scars on her coat and fire in violet eyes. But no, sadly. Just... what is word? Coincidence we meet?" Tell me your secrets, unburden your memories, and I'll save them for safe-keeping. |
