you are too kind!!

and no need to tag me unless i take forever to reply! :)

she may contain the urge to run away but hold her down with soggy clothes and breezeblocks So intently the blossom girl pondered her options, she took no note of the green-maned soldier until his warm breath took wing and unfurled over the soft velvet of her earlobe. It might be best to simply let her sleep, the little bird said; Lothíriel twisted her face backward incredulously, skin crawling as she studied the hornless before her. Eyes narrowed with childlike bravado—who was he to tell her what to do? Before she could voice her abjection, however, the patched thing stirred in her mossy nest. Flower cloaked child glanced in that direction, resting upon delicately dished features and earth-colored eyes. This painted girl was certainly not ugly for a hornless—she lacked the cumbersome body of the grey intruder, but was want of a proper horn in order to be anything above average. The girl tilted her head curiously, as if studying an artifact from a long bygone civilization. Unicorns were the crowned regents of all creatures, large and small, and the hornless (winged and bare) were made to be their servants, catalysts for war and unrest and fit to be shunned and destroyed—at least that was what she had heard, spoken fiercely underbreath by herdmates; words refuted incredulously by Mother. Dark ears tilted backward with dismay, unable to decide whether it was all true; she certainly felt resplendent—could Cinnoru's garlanded daughter feel any other way? Did these equines feel the same way about their blood, plain as it might be? They certainly did not wear crowns on their brows, nor cloven feet nor lion's tails. The painted girl smiled shyly and dipped her head to both of them—first to Lothíriel and then to the yet unnamed equine. Greetings, beautiful miss. Pleasure to meet you princess, she said; the white maned girl tossed her head upward, eyes flashing with uncertainy. Was this stranger aware of her monarchical roots, grounded in dead Isilme, land of shadows? Of her father, lord of the unicorns, or her mother, mouthpiece to the Lightning God? Lothíriel did nothing more than curve her lips upward politely, brows furrowing—how would a Queen in disguise act, after being recognized by plebians? Mother would have smiled and made refuting noises (I am but flesh and bone, she would have said), but she was no Queen; Father would have stared at them glacially, his bright eyes flashing with reproach—but he was no Queen, but a King. Lothíriel must take it upon herself to bear the cross of sovereignty in this family. She called herself Abishia and called for their names; the prodigal daughter paused, awaiting for the warrior's response before exchanging her own titles. A readied breath clung to the back of her mouth, full of gradiose words and sweeping claims to royalty. But, after all, wasn't she a Princess, and weren't they her Dominion, as the hornless of this world? "Lothíriel Stormborn, daughter of the Reaper, son of the Firesword, heiress of Cinnoru," the words seemed odd on a child's tongue; a magnanimous claim when paired with too-big ears and a bottlebrush tail, but there was an adult severity on her face which brought earnestness to this allegation. This was the first time she had addressed herself in any way other than the name her father gave her. A proper Queen (or at least a Princess, or at least a distant heiress to some dead deity) was deserving of a few titles, and all of Mother's and Father's stories made her pine for a bit of royalty in her own life. Forgetting their hornlessness for a moment, Lothíriel watched both of them brightly, regaining her childlike whimsy after a moment of solenity. "Why are we here?" she whispered conspiratorially, florid eyes shifting between them slyly. "Mother told me only that there's danger up there," she wagged her horn towards the cavernous, star-studded ceiling, "but she didn't say anything else." This entire situation was hush-hush, and the Princess demanded answers.

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The flower child whipped around looking at him, and Solace for a brief moment felt a bit bad for potentially starting the child. Shortly after the painted girl awoke and he noted the way she jumped. Solace lifted his head and looked over at the fellow equine with ears perked forward. As she dipped her head, the draft returned the gesture and offered a good natured smile. First the crowned filly was addressed by the painted child, and he was rather bewildered by the nature of the greeting. Princess? Obviously these two weren’t of acquaintance based upon the filly’s response, yet she still addressed the girl draped in flora as some kind of noble blood. Then he himself was greeted and he waited for the girl’s name before offering his own. “I am Solace, mason of the Foothills.” Perhaps it was bold of him to make such statement when he had never officially earned the title from his leaders, but the draft had his gifts since tallsun and even presented them before the Merciful. In the end, the stallion found it would be acceptable for him to throw around such a title when by the magic gifted to him granted him such.

As the flower girl introduced herself, Solace lifted his brow at her words. Abishia appeared be pleasant, while the other girl, with a name as exotic as her appearance, left the mason feeling wary. “It is a pleasure to meet you as well Lothíriel.” Finally the stallion adjusted his placement so then he stood left of Lothíriel not wishing to make the girl uncomfortable. Conversation was a pleasant distraction from all the previous anxieties that had been weighing in the back of his mind and binding his heart. For the time being the evils that lay outside could be forgotten, or so he hoped until the Stormborn brought up the subject.

Solace was hesitant to relay such information for he knew the mother very well could be withholding such knowledge from her child for a reason. Ignorance was bliss and both girls deserved to view the time within the caverns as an adventure, not as a time of hiding and fear. “I cannot tell you much,” Solace admitted, “All I know is that there is something infecting the individuals of Helovia, and my family fled our lands to seek shelter here.” A sigh passed from his lips. Could he really never be able to escape the heavy thoughts of the evil outside?

@[Abishia]

my stories are very somber.. An irritation for the girl started to grow in her. The way that she threw around large words, most likely not knowing what any of their definitions where. But she kept this feelings to herself, and remembered that the filly may be much younger than her, she was horned. She had something that Abi didn't... No, she had what Abishia had wanted her entire existence. Stormborn? Oh, who gives a shit. She yelled to herself, but the vulgar language and feelings where kept to herself. She was determined to not show her true self, but be the charming filly that was simply a mask for her true personality. No one had an idea of what the real Abishia was like. All they new was the bright girl she pretended to be, and her contagious smile that was oh so believable, but surprisingly, fake. She wasn't the happy filly. She was the sad one, that wished and dreamed for something she could never have. Something she wasn't meant to have, but wanted with all her heart. A horn. A horn... That is all she had ever wanted in her life. Most likely, her wish would never be granted, and the little girl would live in despair. She turned to the Stallion who declared himself as Solace, a mason of the Foothills. She smiled wide, knowing that this brute would soon be her herd mate. He seemed interesting, and she was eager to speak with him and get to know him better. She nodded to him when he was finished speaking, and leaned in when he started to speak of the 'darkness'. Abi shivered, knowing very well what was just behind the entrance to Helovia. Last time she had visited the surface, the mare that she used to look up to, and was friends with, Illynx, had tried to infect her. A long sigh escaped her lips, knowing he was sugarcoating the conversation. The little girl who called herself an odd and exotic name, was much to young to be informed about the death, the infections, and the disgusting, rotted, flesh eating beasts that roamed around Helovia now, drooling for flesh and waiting around every corner. The girl that was covered in flowers was lovely, yes, but Abishia seemed to have a growing dislike for her. But, she did not portray this in her actions or body language. Changing the subject quickly, Abishia started to speak, choosing to ignore the filly's introduction. "I am expecting to become part of the Foothills soon, Solace. Hopefully we will be herd mates soon!" She spoke in a soft voice, her odd accent thick but pleasant. A question still lurked in her mind, and since all was becoming quiet, she spoke again. "A mason you say? I have never heard of such a thing... Mind telling me about it? " She smiled sweetly, looking over to him with large, dual colored pools. ________________________________________________________________________ @[Lothíriel] tagging you in case this got buried! ABISHIA

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