I did not know my grandmother, but the stories my father told me of her were clear in my mind. She was a leader, a protector and defender, she took no bullshit and she dished plenty out. She knew how to get what she wanted in a male-dominated world, she knew how to use her body to manipulate and lead those around her. Mostly, she was a competent warrior who had proven herself in battle, earning herself the title of FIreSlayer when she struck down Ignatius the FireSword, in a battle of epic proportions. There was only one steed who managed to steal her heart and mind, and he became my grandfather. I felt his spear shift in the feathers on my wing. I would not be so weak as my grandmother. I would never allow myself to feel for another being like that, I would never grow so weak as to have to rely upon another.

Because when they leave me, like you did, I would only be all the more broken.

I enjoyed the feeling of power my behaviour was earning me. He watches me, closely, drinking my body in deeply, not hiding his attraction. I never thought of myself in that light, never considered that the curves of my bodice were particularly beautiful or alluring, but apparently they were. I almost felt shy for a moment, embarrassed that I was advertising myself in this way - but it was a false advertisement, a lie, an act that I was trying out for the first time, just to see what results I could garnish. I would admit to be pretty pleased with my first attempt, and I wondered if all men were this vague and easy to twist - I wondered just how much I could get him to do without him even realising it.

"What are you tripping on?" I ask, unsure of the wording he used. He didn't seem to be falling down or stumbling, though there was still that heady, thick smell about him. I didn't know if it was his natural masculine musk or something else - my eye fall upon the strange vial strung around his neck, but I have little idea what it could be. I know there are medicinal herbs that can help a horse calm down, others that can alter one's state of mind - did this canister contain a substance like that? A brow quirks upwards as I consider this possibility. Was this steed under the influence of something that made him more persuasive? Were my skills of seduction not as good as I thought - was I just lucky to find a steed drunk on whatever poison he was taking?

Did it matter?

It was a stab to my confidence, and I felt myself slip back to the dead, empty shell of body that I have been since you left me. I hope he does not notice the gleam leave my eye, but that is the only sign of my renewed disinterest. The rain slowly gets heavier, the drops fall with more of a steady rhythm. My hide moves with the drops, a strange, dark blur of water and clouds and winds scrawling across my frame. I halt the sweeping of my tail, and pull myself away from the steed, allowing the disgust to curl my lip into a snarl-like frown. "I think I'd rather you shut up now, actually." I say dryly, peering at him though half-lidded eyes that blink from beneath a dampening forelock.


@[Rostislav] whee moody cirrus :D