.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
08-12-2012, 09:16 PM
Poppy
March 2nd, 2012 at 2:32am
She was tired, but she didn't want to sleep, and so she stayed awake,
stayed awake for the fall of the sun and the rise of the moon and the
lift of the sun again. Even though she was tired, she had energy; the
small patches of wilted plants that marked her trail proved that. She
wasn't trying to kill the plants, she was really just walking, and if
they wilted that happened but she did not want to rest, so she didn't.
Besides, it was cold so most of the plants were gone anyway. This made
her sad when she thought about it, and the vines on her body wilted
forlornly, which was never a good sign, because it meant she'd start
wanting the plants to grow, and if they grew she would get more tired,
and she did not want to sleep. So she stopped thinking about the cold
and kept walking, and the plants kept wilting and the cold was still
there and she kept remembering it. It was a viscous cycle, really.
She wasn't entirely sure where she was going, she just felt like
walking so she did. It had been a very long time since she saw anyone
else like her, and she was quite curious to remember what they were
like, and if they liked plants, and how much they ate on a daily
basis, and how many of them were named 'Robert'. She thought Robert
was a nice name, and that maybe she would name a child that one day.
It never occurred to her that Robert wasn't really the sort of name
you give a girl, and that if she had a child there was a good chance
she would have a girl- she liked the name, so it didn't matter. She
would have a baby with eyes like flowers and a coat like grass and a
tail like a vine. She would raise it to be happy and eat plants and
maybe sometimes birds and to always walk straight. She would love it
and it would never grow up or leave her, ever.
Something shiny caught her eye, and she forgot about Robert entirely.
She had been walking through a forest, which meant far more energy and
far less herbicide. Her grey coat rippled as her vines creeped across
it, sending out cautious tendrils that successfully betrayed her
interest with the surrounding area. She smelled something funny, kind
of like lemon or bluebells or raspberries right before they got juicy.
It was oddly familiar and frightening and exciting, and she tensed in
the cold, the leaves of her vines rustling anxiously. Her body nearly
quivering, she raised her nose to the air like a sent hound, sniffing
with gusto as she sought out the source of the aroma. Something
tingled in the back of her muddled brain, the image of a figure that
was large and black and maybe, maybe....
Then something else distracted her and she lost the memory and scent
of other horses. Pivoting abruptly, she turned her body to face east,
directly into the wind. It was cold, but again she ignored it, just
like she ignored the tired, passively absorbing the energy from nearby
plants. They didn't seem to mind; this forest was old, and full of
strength. Her attention had been drawn to something on her right.
There was a fantastic, ancient cherry tree tucked away on the edge of
a clearing, its scent buffeting her nostrils via the wind. Somehow it
had managed to survive the frigid winters here, and stubbornly grow
like its compatriots. She inched towards it, tail flicking eagerly,
black eyes bright with maroon excitement. "Pretty," she muttered, the
vines on her body shifting eagerly. As she approached, she suddenly
realized that the tree was quite inactive, and not blooming, and
therefore boring. This was no good. She wanted it to flower.
So it did.
In the middle of winter, at the base of a mountain, on the outskirts
of a forest, a cherry tree stood in full, glorious bloom. At its base
lay the crumpled form of a small, scrawny horse with odd black
markings and a splash of poppy red on her shoulder, grey (well, greyer
than usual) from exhaustion and fast asleep. Within a ten foot radius
of her, all but the strongest plant life was dead.
Gossamer the Benevolent
March 2nd, 2012 at 5:00am
Hooves crunch snow quietly, nearly silent in the empty blackness of
the night. Through the black velvet curtain of cold weaves a mare of
white, gleaming silver against the moon. She had not meant to go
wandering on such a terrible night, but her hooves had been restless,
fueled by thoughts of the quickly approaching first herd meeting,
where she would have to say many things. She had wandered here,
thinking to help any stray in need of a refuge, when Lazulli, who had
flown ahead on a late night hunt, sent her a message about a strange
mare who seemed to keep getting lost. How strange, Gossamer had
thought, I hope she isn't delirious from the cold.
Thus, the Chieftess of the Windtossed Foothills had found herself
wandering about in the night for a strange mare. She didn't want to
open her mind for searching, tonight her mind was supposed to be hers
alone, but she could not wander about for forever in this cold.
Reluctantly, the pearl colored mare opened her mind to search out that
of another's. What she found confused her for several moments. Strewn
in every direction were tendrils of very strong thoughts with the
remnant leaving Gossamer able to discipher only vague ideas about
direction and something named Robert. She felt bizarrely overwhelmed
before she realized the mare must be insane, easily distracted, or
delirious from the cold. It was a shame, but no other herd would
welcome her and treat her kindly. She had promised herself she would
take the weak, the downtrodden, and the lonely of other herdlands and
show them kindness just as she would to any other horse she welcomed
into her herd. One cannot run a refuge if they don't want to bother
with refugees. The lead decided to take precautions in case the mare
was, indeed, insane and began to walk slightly more firmly to make her
approach heard if one chose to listen closely. She walked, in the
moonlit night, directly towards the mare before stopping a decent
distance away.
"Hello Wanderer, I am Gossamer the Benevolent, leader of the herdlands
called the Windtossed Foothills, would you like somewhere warmer to
stay perhaps? " Her voice was kind and reassuring, topped with calm,
and she exuded care as she waited for the mares response, her white
hide and long mane and tail acting as a brace against the cold, but
not helping nearly enough for her liking.
Poppy
March 4th, 2012 at 5:26pm
Everything was oddly fuzzy as she lay there, like the caterpillars
that crawled over leaves in the spring, the fuzzy ones that would roll
up if she poked them and then stop moving if she stepped on them. She
liked stepping on the caterpillars, especially after rolling them
around. The fact that they died did not really bother her. Things
died. Maybe something would step on her, and she would die. She
wondered what that would feel like, being stepped on. Then she stopped
wondering, because she realized that she had been thinking about
something else, and could not remember what it was. She frowned, and
then realized that she couldn't frown because her face was too cold,
and frowned at that, and realized she couldn't. Eventually she grew
tired of trying to frown and decided to look around her.
The first thing she realized was that she was lying on the ground.
This puzzled her, because she could not remember how she got to the
ground. She thought she spent most of her time standing; but maybe she
was wrong? She could be wrong. Maybe she belonged on the ground. After
all, there were lots of plants on the ground, and she liked plants.
But the ground here was hard, and the plants were dead, and she did
not really like it, so she decided that she would stand. She pulled
one grey leg under her, and then another, and started to rise up from
the ground. It didn't go very well, and a second later she realized
that she was still on the ground. If she had noticed exactly how
crumpled the vines on her body were, nearly receded into their roots
from exhaustion, she may have understood better, but she was too
focused on standing. She wanted to stand, and so she would, she
decided. So she tried again, and failed again, and grew angry. She had
landed on her stomach, sprawled uncomfortably upon the hard ground,
and this bothered her too. The plants around her were offering no
help, as they were all dead. Except one, but for some reason that one
refused to give up any energy. It fought her magic, and she grew angry
and fought back, until a sound made her forget her fight. It was
accompanied by a scent, a pretty scent like lilacs and clover. She
rolled onto her knees, then raised herself up into a sitting position,
awkward and difficult to hold for a horse, but about the closest she
could get to standing at this moment, and she had something she was
leaning on, which intrigued her, and she started to look behind her to
see what it was, and then there was more sound and she was distracted
again.
The first thing she noticed was that night had arrived, which
would explain why things were extra cold. The next thing she noticed
was that her legs hurt from staying in this position, but she refused
to lie down again. And then, finally, she noticed the white mare, and
her jaw dropped, black eyes opened wide. Even the vines on her
rustles, creeping curiously towards her shoulders as though they too
could see the mare if they got close enough. She stared at the mare,
and when the other horse spoke, mindlessly echoed the words.
"Wanshurur.... Goshamar... Fuut.... Fuutheils?" Ok, maybe she did not
echo them. Her voice had emerged in a gravelly, ill-used cough, and
between that and the cold numbing her face, she could barely get a
word out of her dark maw, let alone pronounce it.
She looked around now, needing something to offer in return, and
finally looked up and saw the cherry tree. Still brilliantly in bloom,
the tree almost shrunk in terror as she looked upon it. The fight was
lost; magic seeped into the tree, taking back loaned strength, and the
beautiful flowers began to fall, creating a flurry of pink and white
in the moonlit clearing. She did not need enough energy to hill the
tree completely; it would bloom again in spring, or maybe winter. She
did not know. But she was standing now in the falling flowers, and the
vines on her body squirmed with pleasure, producing flowers of her own
like dark stains on her grey back. Pleased, she turned to the mare,
eyes shining. "Pretty," she announced proudly, and took an ungainly
step towards the white mare, head tilted and face eager.
Gossamer the Benevolent
March 6th, 2012 at 2:29am
The mare fell in the blackness of the night and Gossamer and it was
only then that she noticed that the ground all around the mare held no
sleeping life, that it looked black as if a fire had burned everything
around her. Dear gods, an insane mare with the a fire ability? This
was not good. But she had fallen and Gossamer wouldn't let her just
lay there. The mare struggled several times before Gossamer went over
and gently nudged her, like she would her own foal, and the delirious
one managed to get herself into a sitting position. Somewhat
uncomfortable, but enough that the mare could get herself up when she
finally noticed Goss's presence. As she helped the mare, Gossamer
could not help but notice the strange and wilted pattern of flowers on
her hide. With a shrug she left her curiosity be as she awaited the
mare to reply to her words.
There wasn't one. They seemed to reach the poor mare in a delayed way,
with her repeating Gossamer's words before managing to stand and move
towards Gossamer the night continued to become stranger still as the
mare who stood seemed to suck the life from the oddly blooming cherry
tree. Cherry tree? She must have been tired if she hadn't noticed that
oddity in the middle of the clearing. Quickly, Gossamer changed her
thoughts to a horse who has the abilities to manipulate nature. She
didn't like powers that allowed the killings of, well, anything but
she couldn't judge a mare who probably didn't know. The mare walked
towards her with a raspy spoken word: pretty. Gossamer wasn't quite
sure if she should back away or move forward and take the mare under
her care. She settled on speaking and then seeing where things went
from there. When the mare was closer, but not too close she spoke very
kindly and gently,
"Sweet mare, please come with me. You will be cared for and warm where
I live. Do not fear Little One." She called the mare thus because she
seemed to need help, and she knew not her name yet, if she even had
one. She eyed this lost but innocent mare, one so stuck in their mind
they could not escape, and wished desperately there was a cure for
insanity. Then, sadly, she closed off her mind from the mare. She knew
that sharing thoughts with this mare too long could force her to the
same fate, and that would not be good at all.
Poppy
March 8th, 2012 at 2:10am
She did not understand the mare's hesitancy, or even register it, so
entranced was she by the soft words she heard and kindness the white
mare exuded. She was so pretty, so pretty, and so the poor little grey
creature was compelled to say it again: "Pretty." The word was
stronger this time, less raspy, but still lisped into the frigid air
through nearly frozen lips. Despite her cold, though, and the
exhaustion still coursing through her veins like some sort of reverse
adrenalin, she was excited, excited to be welcomed and seen and spoken
too and excited by the pretty mare and the falling cherry blossoms
like so much snow and the flowers now blooming happily across her
sides proved this. The mare spoke again, her words, the little grey
mare thought, like rain falling on a lily pad, soft and fast and
soothing and to her the most wonderful sound ever except maybe the
sound of a flower blooming in the spring under the bright sun. She did
not understand all the words, but there was one that struck a chord,
and filled her with delight. "Come," she echoed, head bobbing eagerly
in comprehension and agreement, black eyes bright with excitement.
Then she stepped forward, coming, walking, going, somewhere new. She
did not stop to think about where she was going, because that did not
matter to her - she was going, that was the thing to focus on now, the
actual journey of the thing. She walked towards the white mare, head
bobbing, coming. She would follow a step behind the mare, perhaps too
close for comfort, but she was comfortable and she was following so it
was good. Yes. It was good.
Gossamer the Benevolent
March 10th, 2012 at 4:00am
Gossamer stared at the pretty, but un-comprehending mare before her
and was saddened. She could see much within the mare, but it was all
locked away by her insanity. Perhaps, perhaps she would better with
some warmth. The mare followed her tentatively, as if Gossamer could
be bothered by her presence, but the Benevolent held up her steps and
walked next to the poor, tired mare and gave her warmth and a shoulder
to lean on, holding her up as they journeyed home.
March 2nd, 2012 at 2:32am
She was tired, but she didn't want to sleep, and so she stayed awake,
stayed awake for the fall of the sun and the rise of the moon and the
lift of the sun again. Even though she was tired, she had energy; the
small patches of wilted plants that marked her trail proved that. She
wasn't trying to kill the plants, she was really just walking, and if
they wilted that happened but she did not want to rest, so she didn't.
Besides, it was cold so most of the plants were gone anyway. This made
her sad when she thought about it, and the vines on her body wilted
forlornly, which was never a good sign, because it meant she'd start
wanting the plants to grow, and if they grew she would get more tired,
and she did not want to sleep. So she stopped thinking about the cold
and kept walking, and the plants kept wilting and the cold was still
there and she kept remembering it. It was a viscous cycle, really.
She wasn't entirely sure where she was going, she just felt like
walking so she did. It had been a very long time since she saw anyone
else like her, and she was quite curious to remember what they were
like, and if they liked plants, and how much they ate on a daily
basis, and how many of them were named 'Robert'. She thought Robert
was a nice name, and that maybe she would name a child that one day.
It never occurred to her that Robert wasn't really the sort of name
you give a girl, and that if she had a child there was a good chance
she would have a girl- she liked the name, so it didn't matter. She
would have a baby with eyes like flowers and a coat like grass and a
tail like a vine. She would raise it to be happy and eat plants and
maybe sometimes birds and to always walk straight. She would love it
and it would never grow up or leave her, ever.
Something shiny caught her eye, and she forgot about Robert entirely.
She had been walking through a forest, which meant far more energy and
far less herbicide. Her grey coat rippled as her vines creeped across
it, sending out cautious tendrils that successfully betrayed her
interest with the surrounding area. She smelled something funny, kind
of like lemon or bluebells or raspberries right before they got juicy.
It was oddly familiar and frightening and exciting, and she tensed in
the cold, the leaves of her vines rustling anxiously. Her body nearly
quivering, she raised her nose to the air like a sent hound, sniffing
with gusto as she sought out the source of the aroma. Something
tingled in the back of her muddled brain, the image of a figure that
was large and black and maybe, maybe....
Then something else distracted her and she lost the memory and scent
of other horses. Pivoting abruptly, she turned her body to face east,
directly into the wind. It was cold, but again she ignored it, just
like she ignored the tired, passively absorbing the energy from nearby
plants. They didn't seem to mind; this forest was old, and full of
strength. Her attention had been drawn to something on her right.
There was a fantastic, ancient cherry tree tucked away on the edge of
a clearing, its scent buffeting her nostrils via the wind. Somehow it
had managed to survive the frigid winters here, and stubbornly grow
like its compatriots. She inched towards it, tail flicking eagerly,
black eyes bright with maroon excitement. "Pretty," she muttered, the
vines on her body shifting eagerly. As she approached, she suddenly
realized that the tree was quite inactive, and not blooming, and
therefore boring. This was no good. She wanted it to flower.
So it did.
In the middle of winter, at the base of a mountain, on the outskirts
of a forest, a cherry tree stood in full, glorious bloom. At its base
lay the crumpled form of a small, scrawny horse with odd black
markings and a splash of poppy red on her shoulder, grey (well, greyer
than usual) from exhaustion and fast asleep. Within a ten foot radius
of her, all but the strongest plant life was dead.
Gossamer the Benevolent
March 2nd, 2012 at 5:00am
Hooves crunch snow quietly, nearly silent in the empty blackness of
the night. Through the black velvet curtain of cold weaves a mare of
white, gleaming silver against the moon. She had not meant to go
wandering on such a terrible night, but her hooves had been restless,
fueled by thoughts of the quickly approaching first herd meeting,
where she would have to say many things. She had wandered here,
thinking to help any stray in need of a refuge, when Lazulli, who had
flown ahead on a late night hunt, sent her a message about a strange
mare who seemed to keep getting lost. How strange, Gossamer had
thought, I hope she isn't delirious from the cold.
Thus, the Chieftess of the Windtossed Foothills had found herself
wandering about in the night for a strange mare. She didn't want to
open her mind for searching, tonight her mind was supposed to be hers
alone, but she could not wander about for forever in this cold.
Reluctantly, the pearl colored mare opened her mind to search out that
of another's. What she found confused her for several moments. Strewn
in every direction were tendrils of very strong thoughts with the
remnant leaving Gossamer able to discipher only vague ideas about
direction and something named Robert. She felt bizarrely overwhelmed
before she realized the mare must be insane, easily distracted, or
delirious from the cold. It was a shame, but no other herd would
welcome her and treat her kindly. She had promised herself she would
take the weak, the downtrodden, and the lonely of other herdlands and
show them kindness just as she would to any other horse she welcomed
into her herd. One cannot run a refuge if they don't want to bother
with refugees. The lead decided to take precautions in case the mare
was, indeed, insane and began to walk slightly more firmly to make her
approach heard if one chose to listen closely. She walked, in the
moonlit night, directly towards the mare before stopping a decent
distance away.
"Hello Wanderer, I am Gossamer the Benevolent, leader of the herdlands
called the Windtossed Foothills, would you like somewhere warmer to
stay perhaps? " Her voice was kind and reassuring, topped with calm,
and she exuded care as she waited for the mares response, her white
hide and long mane and tail acting as a brace against the cold, but
not helping nearly enough for her liking.
Poppy
March 4th, 2012 at 5:26pm
Everything was oddly fuzzy as she lay there, like the caterpillars
that crawled over leaves in the spring, the fuzzy ones that would roll
up if she poked them and then stop moving if she stepped on them. She
liked stepping on the caterpillars, especially after rolling them
around. The fact that they died did not really bother her. Things
died. Maybe something would step on her, and she would die. She
wondered what that would feel like, being stepped on. Then she stopped
wondering, because she realized that she had been thinking about
something else, and could not remember what it was. She frowned, and
then realized that she couldn't frown because her face was too cold,
and frowned at that, and realized she couldn't. Eventually she grew
tired of trying to frown and decided to look around her.
The first thing she realized was that she was lying on the ground.
This puzzled her, because she could not remember how she got to the
ground. She thought she spent most of her time standing; but maybe she
was wrong? She could be wrong. Maybe she belonged on the ground. After
all, there were lots of plants on the ground, and she liked plants.
But the ground here was hard, and the plants were dead, and she did
not really like it, so she decided that she would stand. She pulled
one grey leg under her, and then another, and started to rise up from
the ground. It didn't go very well, and a second later she realized
that she was still on the ground. If she had noticed exactly how
crumpled the vines on her body were, nearly receded into their roots
from exhaustion, she may have understood better, but she was too
focused on standing. She wanted to stand, and so she would, she
decided. So she tried again, and failed again, and grew angry. She had
landed on her stomach, sprawled uncomfortably upon the hard ground,
and this bothered her too. The plants around her were offering no
help, as they were all dead. Except one, but for some reason that one
refused to give up any energy. It fought her magic, and she grew angry
and fought back, until a sound made her forget her fight. It was
accompanied by a scent, a pretty scent like lilacs and clover. She
rolled onto her knees, then raised herself up into a sitting position,
awkward and difficult to hold for a horse, but about the closest she
could get to standing at this moment, and she had something she was
leaning on, which intrigued her, and she started to look behind her to
see what it was, and then there was more sound and she was distracted
again.
The first thing she noticed was that night had arrived, which
would explain why things were extra cold. The next thing she noticed
was that her legs hurt from staying in this position, but she refused
to lie down again. And then, finally, she noticed the white mare, and
her jaw dropped, black eyes opened wide. Even the vines on her
rustles, creeping curiously towards her shoulders as though they too
could see the mare if they got close enough. She stared at the mare,
and when the other horse spoke, mindlessly echoed the words.
"Wanshurur.... Goshamar... Fuut.... Fuutheils?" Ok, maybe she did not
echo them. Her voice had emerged in a gravelly, ill-used cough, and
between that and the cold numbing her face, she could barely get a
word out of her dark maw, let alone pronounce it.
She looked around now, needing something to offer in return, and
finally looked up and saw the cherry tree. Still brilliantly in bloom,
the tree almost shrunk in terror as she looked upon it. The fight was
lost; magic seeped into the tree, taking back loaned strength, and the
beautiful flowers began to fall, creating a flurry of pink and white
in the moonlit clearing. She did not need enough energy to hill the
tree completely; it would bloom again in spring, or maybe winter. She
did not know. But she was standing now in the falling flowers, and the
vines on her body squirmed with pleasure, producing flowers of her own
like dark stains on her grey back. Pleased, she turned to the mare,
eyes shining. "Pretty," she announced proudly, and took an ungainly
step towards the white mare, head tilted and face eager.
Gossamer the Benevolent
March 6th, 2012 at 2:29am
The mare fell in the blackness of the night and Gossamer and it was
only then that she noticed that the ground all around the mare held no
sleeping life, that it looked black as if a fire had burned everything
around her. Dear gods, an insane mare with the a fire ability? This
was not good. But she had fallen and Gossamer wouldn't let her just
lay there. The mare struggled several times before Gossamer went over
and gently nudged her, like she would her own foal, and the delirious
one managed to get herself into a sitting position. Somewhat
uncomfortable, but enough that the mare could get herself up when she
finally noticed Goss's presence. As she helped the mare, Gossamer
could not help but notice the strange and wilted pattern of flowers on
her hide. With a shrug she left her curiosity be as she awaited the
mare to reply to her words.
There wasn't one. They seemed to reach the poor mare in a delayed way,
with her repeating Gossamer's words before managing to stand and move
towards Gossamer the night continued to become stranger still as the
mare who stood seemed to suck the life from the oddly blooming cherry
tree. Cherry tree? She must have been tired if she hadn't noticed that
oddity in the middle of the clearing. Quickly, Gossamer changed her
thoughts to a horse who has the abilities to manipulate nature. She
didn't like powers that allowed the killings of, well, anything but
she couldn't judge a mare who probably didn't know. The mare walked
towards her with a raspy spoken word: pretty. Gossamer wasn't quite
sure if she should back away or move forward and take the mare under
her care. She settled on speaking and then seeing where things went
from there. When the mare was closer, but not too close she spoke very
kindly and gently,
"Sweet mare, please come with me. You will be cared for and warm where
I live. Do not fear Little One." She called the mare thus because she
seemed to need help, and she knew not her name yet, if she even had
one. She eyed this lost but innocent mare, one so stuck in their mind
they could not escape, and wished desperately there was a cure for
insanity. Then, sadly, she closed off her mind from the mare. She knew
that sharing thoughts with this mare too long could force her to the
same fate, and that would not be good at all.
Poppy
March 8th, 2012 at 2:10am
She did not understand the mare's hesitancy, or even register it, so
entranced was she by the soft words she heard and kindness the white
mare exuded. She was so pretty, so pretty, and so the poor little grey
creature was compelled to say it again: "Pretty." The word was
stronger this time, less raspy, but still lisped into the frigid air
through nearly frozen lips. Despite her cold, though, and the
exhaustion still coursing through her veins like some sort of reverse
adrenalin, she was excited, excited to be welcomed and seen and spoken
too and excited by the pretty mare and the falling cherry blossoms
like so much snow and the flowers now blooming happily across her
sides proved this. The mare spoke again, her words, the little grey
mare thought, like rain falling on a lily pad, soft and fast and
soothing and to her the most wonderful sound ever except maybe the
sound of a flower blooming in the spring under the bright sun. She did
not understand all the words, but there was one that struck a chord,
and filled her with delight. "Come," she echoed, head bobbing eagerly
in comprehension and agreement, black eyes bright with excitement.
Then she stepped forward, coming, walking, going, somewhere new. She
did not stop to think about where she was going, because that did not
matter to her - she was going, that was the thing to focus on now, the
actual journey of the thing. She walked towards the white mare, head
bobbing, coming. She would follow a step behind the mare, perhaps too
close for comfort, but she was comfortable and she was following so it
was good. Yes. It was good.
Gossamer the Benevolent
March 10th, 2012 at 4:00am
Gossamer stared at the pretty, but un-comprehending mare before her
and was saddened. She could see much within the mare, but it was all
locked away by her insanity. Perhaps, perhaps she would better with
some warmth. The mare followed her tentatively, as if Gossamer could
be bothered by her presence, but the Benevolent held up her steps and
walked next to the poor, tired mare and gave her warmth and a shoulder
to lean on, holding her up as they journeyed home.
