.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
10-12-2014, 11:41 AM
Slowly inwardly he was gaining that wicked grin back. The more the girl walked in trust next to his limping form the more his heart began to pick up the pace, and his mind began to spin. Like a jet engine it took a moment to get itself going, but even then it was a force to be reckoned with. The golden had not been thick enough, even in the swirled lingers of pain to not notice how the splashed bird had narrowed her eyes at him. How she became tenser with the suggestion and questioning herself. But then she nodded, and the gold’s breath came easier. He lets a small smile pass his lips and a long sigh, seemingly held for all those weeks of being an outcast. Nodding he raises his head, tentatively but with a renewed confidence in the hope for the future. “Thank you Andromeda, I will do my new family proud.” Which ‘family’ he did not say. Then as she moves next to him he takes a small step. His hind swings, then hitches as it had for all those long steps from the Threshold, but the gold wills it, slowly to go on, and much to his shock, finds nothing but a tight soreness. Another long exhale leaves him, and the next step is with more security than before.
Together, side by side they walk. It was not a normal feeling for the gold to allow another to walk as such, but it was or a good cause was it not? So he makes himself soft and looks over to her as they go with appreciation. All the while his mind develops his story line. It edits it with a sharp eye and adds a few notes. Fleshing it out into a piece of art if the gold could say so himself. All they while the slow, limping beast takes the path the splashed bird chooses towards the Throat. The air gets drier, and saltier. Black dirt begins to turn to sand. They are nearly there.
Once they come to the boarder, he assumes, of the land the golden is ready. His mind now returned to be as sharp as a tack, heightened even more by the heat surrounding him. The old near burning touch of the sun, the shifting sands under his cloven hooves, and the hot breeze rising up under his vanilla mane to kiss his leafen star, it is all so known. So familiar. The golden son inhales the hot air and whispers out so perhaps she can just hear, “I was born in a desert. I missed it.” Then the golden seems to awake, too many memories tied to those which always seemed to bring him down. He was a different horse now, with a different history. For a moment though a more whole feeling of home made it a struggle. The golden man always came through though. He was not only a master of the mind of others, but most certainly of his. So he looks to his host with a warm smile and then forward, a hidden wicked grin growing in his soul.
OOC :: Andromeda, then open to all.
"speech"
@[Andromeda]
Heat of the son, Heat of the sands,
Some even get, a heat from within.
Some even get, a heat from within.
![[Image: 5381546acbe33]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/5381546acbe33)
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
Please tag in every post.
Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.
