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11-18-2013, 03:14 PM
The night was fast approaching, the sun lazy in the sky and blood streaking through the pristine blues of the day; the first shimmer of starlight hovered in the fringes of darkness, and Illynx found herself standing in a clearing amidst the tall trees of the Threshold, gazing upwards at the spectacle through a spacious gap in the crowns of the silent giants. The forest was peaceful, despite it's purpose in the land, the stillness of the place a boon to a burdened mind. It was not to say that she had come here only to stargaze, that was for certain; she had a mountain back home, and plenty of room for more of her kin, should she find them and might they be convinced to follow her back up the treacherous mountain path.
Thusly, she'd done well with her choices in the hushed wood; fondly she recalled them all, their faces emblazoned in her memory, their names like bells with which she would adorn her cloak of power. Today she would stitch more into her imaginary garb, or so she had hoped - the day had been without a single horned face. She had shunned several unsuitables, their wings or plain faces driving her with a snarl back along the leaf strewn pathways, her luxurious tail sprawling across the earth behind her.
Her luck was to change as she stood and silently worshipped her forsaken Goddess' rise to her throne, whether she knew it or not.
A sweet and terrified voice sounded out a short distance from her, the sight and smell of the speaker obscured by the thick growth of brush betwixt the pair. So delicate was the timbre that the woman was immediately alerted to the young age of whatever it was that called out into the night, her pleading sending a soft twinge through the bitter and hard heart of the usually stoic hearted bitch. For whatever reason (in truth, her own childhood, but Illynx is not the wisest of creatures), children stirred her emotions in ways so tumultuous that only a smart mouthed pegasus seemed to be able to mirror its intensity, and so swiftly she made her way to the fearfully bleating little thing.
She kept herself quiet, of course; it may be a foal, but it's origins were unsorted. If the lost lamb in question was wearing the wrong attachments on her innocent little face, the Lady would have no choice but to put an end to the racing of her heart with her beloved blade. She certainly hoped that was not the case; even if it was exterminating a pest, babies were always far more adorable than their hideous and adult versions.
A soft sigh escaped her as the sight of a small, partially grown horn on the brow of the child eased the gathering of her hunter's muscles, the golden laced queen slipping out into the open and towards the ebony child. Her eyes were hungry as wolves, searching every inch of the youth's build for physical flaws or impairments, loathe to allow a cripple into their already weakened fold - but only fulfillment met the wicked damsel's appraisal, and so her smile was soft and supple upon her lips as her silky words leeched out towards the child. "Fear not, little one," cooed the golden horned warrior, "I will allow no harm to come to you. Tell me, where is your family? Are you lost?" She drew within a comforting distance of the girl, all the while attempting to keep her body language and voice soothing and calm despite her devious hopes that the black filly was an orphan, a soft mind to mold into a perfect puppet holding knives aimed for the hearts of the hornless.
Thusly, she'd done well with her choices in the hushed wood; fondly she recalled them all, their faces emblazoned in her memory, their names like bells with which she would adorn her cloak of power. Today she would stitch more into her imaginary garb, or so she had hoped - the day had been without a single horned face. She had shunned several unsuitables, their wings or plain faces driving her with a snarl back along the leaf strewn pathways, her luxurious tail sprawling across the earth behind her.
Her luck was to change as she stood and silently worshipped her forsaken Goddess' rise to her throne, whether she knew it or not.
A sweet and terrified voice sounded out a short distance from her, the sight and smell of the speaker obscured by the thick growth of brush betwixt the pair. So delicate was the timbre that the woman was immediately alerted to the young age of whatever it was that called out into the night, her pleading sending a soft twinge through the bitter and hard heart of the usually stoic hearted bitch. For whatever reason (in truth, her own childhood, but Illynx is not the wisest of creatures), children stirred her emotions in ways so tumultuous that only a smart mouthed pegasus seemed to be able to mirror its intensity, and so swiftly she made her way to the fearfully bleating little thing.
She kept herself quiet, of course; it may be a foal, but it's origins were unsorted. If the lost lamb in question was wearing the wrong attachments on her innocent little face, the Lady would have no choice but to put an end to the racing of her heart with her beloved blade. She certainly hoped that was not the case; even if it was exterminating a pest, babies were always far more adorable than their hideous and adult versions.
A soft sigh escaped her as the sight of a small, partially grown horn on the brow of the child eased the gathering of her hunter's muscles, the golden laced queen slipping out into the open and towards the ebony child. Her eyes were hungry as wolves, searching every inch of the youth's build for physical flaws or impairments, loathe to allow a cripple into their already weakened fold - but only fulfillment met the wicked damsel's appraisal, and so her smile was soft and supple upon her lips as her silky words leeched out towards the child. "Fear not, little one," cooed the golden horned warrior, "I will allow no harm to come to you. Tell me, where is your family? Are you lost?" She drew within a comforting distance of the girl, all the while attempting to keep her body language and voice soothing and calm despite her devious hopes that the black filly was an orphan, a soft mind to mold into a perfect puppet holding knives aimed for the hearts of the hornless.
