the Rift


[OPEN] like a seed

Lothíriel Posts: 37
Hidden Account atk: 5.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.2 hands :: 4 years of age HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Thingol :: Raven :: None krazie
#1
[open Loth thread :D]




  Lothíriel</style>
 as she talks, her lips breathe spring roses: i was chloris, who am now called flora.</style>

Twilight lit the valley in orange, the first even-stars peeking out from a sky flushed pink and red and purple. Hazy was the early summer evening, the lingering warmth of a dying day settling over the valley like a balmy blanket; an oasis of summer in a tundra both cruel and cold. Of course, the young child romping in the last light of declining sunshine had never known the hyperborean tundra just outside of her home: in fact, she did not know much else than the love of her parents and the tales they told, and the little blossoms which sprung beneath every delicate step she took. Curiosity burgeoned within her chest like a night-blooming flower, and she shook off the laziness of summer days, mischief lighting in her eyes as she twirled and pivoted and danced through green meadows, orange light tracing her delicate features as she whirled through a blur of grass and flowers. Purple asters, pale daisies, blue forget-me-nots, and white lilies all sprung with every twist of minute feet, leaving a graceful swirling trail of color in her wake. Bees and butterflies and little sparrows tagged along too; everything the nymph did was a procession of purling live and color, a vibrant parade of creation in all its glory—birdsong and the merry humming of bees. When she hummed along with the birds, in a flutter of wings they would each pick a bloom of their choice. They hurried and waltzed over and under each other, 'till their flowers were woven together in a vivid garland, blue and purple and pink and white. They crowned her with that wreath which glowed gently in the dying light, laying it gently over her tall ears. A broad smile lit up her face, crinkling lilac eyes—she was their queen of flowers, the garlanded maiden, bequeathed by little sparrows and heralded by the hum of restless bees like the anthousai she was and always would be.

Soon did the sun sunk below the horizon, last light silhouetting the stoic stone mountains which loomed ever so tall above her, like the statues of ancient giants, warriors frozen by the rising sun. She glanced upward at them, studying the faint trails and crags and the pinpricks of distant caves. They seemed so insurmountable, separating the sheltered girl from the outside world she knew of only in stories. One day, she promised herself, tossing her heels at a young sparrow that drew too close to her rump, laughing as it chirped indignantly as she barely clipped its wing. Hunger stirred at her stomach, interrupting dreams of greatness; before she could overcome any mountain, she'd have to fill her stomach. With snort, the roan plunged forward, hooves barely stroking the earth as she went in search of her scholar mother.

"/font>"

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Frost Fyre Posts: 198
Outcast atk: 5 | def: 9 | dam: 5.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3hh :: 6 Years HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Altair :: Common Cerndyr :: Starpast prissy
#2

He had come out from his little glowing orb, the orb expanding to a great size, shaking in a violent manner. She had watched with such wide, shocked eyes as half her soul was taken to that creature just born. She had watched closely, her emerald eyes had been set on the crack in the now giant orb. A small, moist nose had stuck itself from the orb, the little nostrils flaring desperately, reaching for that first breath. She had watched as the body of the creature stumbled forward, splitting through the orb and slumping on the cold ground. The little thing gave an odd little whimper, and it had tumbled forward several times, attempting to stand. Once it was settled on its little pillars, it made several wobbly steps towards the maiden, who guided it to her. It nipped at her mane, eyes squinting. She had led it out of the cave she... they had been in.

They had drifted in the Basin since that morning, together side by side, the two who owned each other. The fae took it slowly, not wanting her soul to trip and fall. She smiles as the little thing takes a stop, its little legs wobbling still. It raises its big sliver eyes to her emerald eyes, looking at her, walking forward hurriedly before tripping over its own legs. It falls to the ground, a look of displeasure on the little ones face. Smiling, the fae walks forward, swinging her tail at the elks face. It blinks, nipping at it. She keeps her pace steady, dragging the calf with her. The little thing had an odd composure, its body mass that of an elk, while its head and legs are more that of a deer's. He was an adorable little thing, his eyes and ears far too big for his body. Those little, innocent eyes melted the roan's heart, even though she dried to hold it together, it fell apart when she saw the silver pools staring at her.

She peeled her attention from the little vessel, spotting something else. A small, dark figure moved, its body small and petite, a child. Moving forward, the fae walks to see who this child was. There were not many children in the Basin, not this young anyway, this one was still a drinker of it's dam's milk, the size of its body enough to tell. As the fae approached, she scanned the child over, taking note of all the details it held. Its body was covered in white hairs, just as hers, it was a roan with tufts silvery hair clumping at the top of its neck and at the end of its lions tail. She smiles at the child, watching as her vessel moves forward, reaching its little head towards the babe, curious nostrils flare to take in the scent. "Hello little child." She coos, a smile pressed to her lips. She lowers her head, only so the child didn't have to crane her neck to look at her.

"Speech."

FROST FYRE
Second chances they don't ever matter, people never change.

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Dawn is coming
open your eyes

Carnesîr Posts: 60
Hidden Account atk: 5.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 15.2 :: 3 HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE
wanda
#3
Carnesîr sees her, a dancing seraph, a maiden of flowers, festooned with petals in her mane and blossoms at her cleft hooves, the rays of the moon embellishing the silver-cerulean of her coat. He watches her, him a distant guardian, a far-flung vigilante, supervising her when her mother or father could not. They have rarely spoken, if ever; but doubtless she knows of him- or has noticed him- the silent sentinel on the horizon, a coward watching over the courageous. A smile dances on his lips as she waltzes and frolics, with all the seamless grace of an elvish girl, and then he begins downwards from the rise, with the thought in mind to cavort with her, to run and play, him acting as child, under the dying sunlight.

He races downwards from the rise of hill, towards the belly of the valley, the wind playing with his mane and fingering the softness of his weak flesh. For a moment, he is fearless, a soldier, a warrior, a fighter, starved of adrenaline, waiting for the rush to snatch him up; and then he is just a craven running head-first down a mountain, his legs all a-tumble beneath him.

Whatever ghosts of courage were in his chest deserts him.

The ground flattens beneath him, the impregnable mountains turning into smears of dusty gray blurring into the azure sky. Still he moves too fast, legs hardly able to cope with the strain on his tendons and joints, sweat beginning to wet his neck and dampen his muzzle. Her figure is growing ever larger in his vision, ever more prominent, until all he can see with round eyes is Loth's iron coat and onyx points; and he skids, hooves clawing at the lush verdant grass, digging them in deep in a desperate attempt to prevent himself hitting the flower maiden. Carnesîr tosses his head, straining to lift his suddenly much too dangerous horn above her slim body, a horrific image of him piercing her through the head looming in his mind's eye.

His body twists, a smile lighting his sooty lips. "Lothíriel," he murmurs, tipping his head thoughtfully, reaching out in hopes to brush his muzzle to hers. "Do you know who I am?"

Carnesîr turns, a familiar voice interrupting the moment between them. It is the girl he recognizes, hardly more than a little child herself- and yet he cannot quite conjure the feelings of sensuality and sexuality atwixt them again, finding it difficult to overcame the selfish wish he could have had a moment longer with the flower girl alone. Nonetheless, he finds a greeting in the back of his mind- "Frost Fyre, it's good to see you."


Lothíriel Posts: 37
Hidden Account atk: 5.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.2 hands :: 4 years of age HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Thingol :: Raven :: None krazie
#4



  Lothíriel</style>
 as she talks, her lips breathe spring roses: i was chloris, who am now called flora.</style>
Before she could venture very far, a multitude of hooves on sod alerted Lothíriel of company. Uncertainty plagued young features like locusts swarming over choice crop; ears danced back and forth, muscles tensed to slow running legs, sliding to an unceremonious halt just as the pair came to view. Though the figures were difficult to discern in the half-light, she could descry a half-grown girl, roan with a white rump and her pale child, who could not be much younger than herself. They came at a steady approach, the older filly's electric green eyes judging her critically, as Mama often did after her day-long romps through the valley. Her own lilac glare watched back daringly, though the roan wondered if she could escape now in time to find her dam's bosom. But before she could gather her wits, fascination shadowed her face (the prospect of a meal was forgotten) as the earthen mare drew nearer, noticing that the little pale form that followed her was not a child at all, but instead a young leggy thing of another species entirely. "What's that?" she wondered, watching it intently, studying the spindly legs and pale fur—it charmed the girl instantly. She thought to the glass-horned bay and his hound, and the bronze-shouldered black and his wolf. Perhaps this pair was bonded in that way too? Mama said that sometimes two souls can be intertwined in such a way that the death of one would leave the other empty and hollow, like a dead tree trunk left to decay and rot in the autumn rain. Lothíriel had then wondered with all her childish whiles, why would you bring that onto yourself? Huyana had laughed at her naivety, hugging the babe close to her chest. Love, she had replied tenderly, lipping the thin hair of her forelock with affection. Your father and I have you.

The appaloosa pushed her face into Lothíriel's, a smile playing on dark lips; Hello little child. Ears flicked backward in a suggestion of contempt, though no other features betrayed the indignity that stirred in her breast. "I am not," she said solemnly, "a little child." Though unshed baby fur and the cotton-pale tuft of her lion's tail said otherwise, her mother and father never treated her as a stupid, useless baby, so Lothíriel would not allow herself to be patronized, with good intentions or not.

Before she could say anything else, the frantic rumble of hooves heralded the arrival of another, hoofbeats like approaching thunder. Suddenly distracted from the green-eyed mare, her face swung in its direction, watching the silvery body chase the evenlight, fleet feet descending a slope. For half a heartbeat, she saw Papa, tall and dark and effortlessly graceful, coming to retrieve his daughter from her evening rollick, but as the body neareds, its features blur into a stranger's: too small, too feminine, too light — his horn is pale, not blue-tipped black. He comes fast and hard, every muscle and tendon and ligament in his body straining to slow his breakneck pace. Lothíriel tossed her head with disquiet, contemplating escape, but the grullo did not trample them, turning just in time to narrowly miss their bodies. A kind smile was offered, and said her name, Lothíriel, in a lilting foreign accent that seemed familiar, if vaguely. His muzzle was offered kindly; uncertainty turned to suspicion in her gut. She let their noses touch for the fraction of a moment (it was the polite thing to do), before wrenching it away, comical wariness rampant in her eyes. "How d'you know my name?" she demanded softly, tilting her head on its axis, eyes boring into his own, studying him closely. "Do you know Mama and Papa?" the query was gentler, if by a fraction. If he did, perhaps he knew where her mother was.

Do you know who I am? "No," she said unsurely; should she know him? The only faces the babe could recall with any certainty were her parents; soft and gentle with rain-washed eyes, and angular and handsome, with sapphire blue. Smiling amber and velvet black did not strike a chord, but perhaps his voice did. Did she hear it in a dream? Déjà vu? Had Mama ever told a story with a benign grullo stallion who knew her name? Lothíriel snorted, dismissing these silly theories as the work of a hunger-addled mind.
Now, he spoke to the blanketed mare, Frost Fyre. Soft ears piqued with interest, "What's your name?" She thought it would be something interesting. You could tell a lot from someone's name.


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