the Storyteller His voice is loud in her ears. She listens curiously at the single world he has yelled into the wet air. What is a veci? Intrigued by this word, she made a mental note to ask him later. Her attack is successful. She has nailed him with her tiny round hooves a few times, but with waning energy, her hooves fall back to the ground. The feeling of her hooves returning back to the sand-covered ground after erratically swinging everywhere with no specific aim, was satisfying. She felt her shoulder prickle with pain and chest continue to throb. These feelings of pain were ones that irked the gold mare. She looked at the stranger that she had just fought. He was injured too, but lucky for him she could heal-- heal him, herself, whoever. With a serious, concentrated expression, she glares at the sand between her and him. She willed life to emerge, willed it to grow petals and a stem. Within a few seconds, two eerily green flowers were full grown, next to each other, between the injured horses. "They heal." She stated plainly as her muzzle dropped to the closer flower, lips engulfing it. It's sweet taste is extreme in her mouth, but she likes the sickly sweet flower. It causes her wounds to mend themselves. Finally, she looks at the stallion expectantly, a broad smile on her face and a healthy body. However, she bends down once more, plucking the other flower out of the ground. This second and last flower hangs by a semi-long green stem (the flower part pointed at the stallion) between smiling lips. She stretches her muzzle forwards. "are you going cho ea it?" All she wanted to say, was "are you going to eat it?", but she doesn't want to drop the delicate flower on the sand, where the rain will surely deform it, so she has to awkwardly mumble. After posing her question, she tries pressing her muzzle closer, hoping he'll take it from her and let his wounds heal with each bite. "talk talk talk"

Coding by Tamme (Schwartze@deviantart) :: cammyandbaylee@deviantart :: Dakaree@deviantart @[Hector]

No Time for Lies and Empty Fights Though the rain continued in relentless fashion, the spar did not. The undertone of the small mare’s silhouette soon vanished down into the frothy stew of sand, rain, and night’s dress and Hector was immediately glad. His first thought was to spread open his voluptuous wingspan and rise into the glorious heavens – where miserable rain was a far greater companion than the Boggart and his beaten self-respect combined. It was not to be though... Through the murk she appeared again, and though lungs gathered a great, apprehensive breath into their midst, she seemed not intent to smite him this time. Hector shook his burly nape vigorously and water was flung from the writhing tendrils of his mane. The desert was an arid landscape, deprived of water mostly, and the stallion who hailed from its furious borderline was more or less put out by the endless downpour around them. The golden-red dust had long been washed from his sleek, copper coat and should not adrenaline and exertion have warmed him thoroughly to the core, he might have felt in his bones the deep chill of the wind that howled across the island. He was oblivious to the fact that flowers, as green as the rolling hills surrounding the tent village, were curling from the water-logged sand by his hooves – that was until her drawling voice and sinking muzzle eluded to their existence. With a brisk snort and an increasingly impatient toss of his fine, horned cranium, Hector too leant down to investigate. The girl had already picked the blossom nearest to her, but he was reluctant. Curious... he thought in silence as Veci’s wicked presence slithered nearer. What is it? the ghost asked; but before he could answer, the chestnut mare had plucked it from the arena. She gestured forward with it clasped between her lips, and the soldier relented at last, accepting the flower; stained teeth dancing forward to take it. It was small, barely a thread of cotton to snag between molars, but the overwhelmingly sugary taste which spread across his tongue as it slid back towards his throat was phenomenal. He winced and gulped, tongue lashing lips. He likened it to quenching thirst with seawater. "Delicious..." the soldier lied, striking the sand with a tipped hoof before steadying himself with a smooth smile. He was bothered by the spar that had been, but all the same Hector was neither an uncouth or sullen individual. "Your acc-ent," he continued excessively, trying to compensate for the language barrier which had existed previously, voice as deep and rumbling as spring thunder... "...Str-a-nge to me, diff-i-cult to un-der-stand... you know?" How ridiculous... "I-am H e c t o r... We go out of rain now..." he over pronounced, glancing through the darkness around them as though a shelter might spring out and beckon them forward – but there was no such invitation and Hector’s broard shoulders slumped despondently. Wait... There was no longer a persistent sting across the right; his face was not burning with the pain of one thousand ant bites. She healed me! and it occurred to him at last that she had mentioned that before he had even registered that the flowers existed. "Th-ank you- for fl-o-wer..." The accent thing was tedious indeed... Perhaps it would be better for them both if he just turned next and swept away through the night.

He calls my flowers delicious, and I cock my head slightly. It's almost too sweet for me, and I like sweet things. I had doubted that he would like the almost pungent taste of too much sweetness, but I was proven wrong. He claims that they are delicious. Decadent? I do not believe so. Divine? Perhaps in a magical way, but not in taste. The flowers are sweet and bitter, dry and moist, everything and nothing. Each petal, fragile, easily broken, yet magic runs actively through their eerily green petals. They were sickly looking, but beautiful to me, to those who care enough to admire. Flowers of mine bloom and blossom with magic. Could anything truly be a match for such a rarity as these flowers? They are core-less, merely composed of velvet petals and held with magic upon a thin stem. This stem, it's smooth, refined. There are no leaves protruding from the cover of moist guts of this stem. Would the flowers be perfect to everyone if they were beautiful, draped in a more magical color, much like aureate? I like my flowers. They are mine. They are a defining characteristic. With these flowers, I can do much. Fight without the fear of scars and bruises, but also save lives. I had yet to find a more amazing power. Even the ability to destroy lives seemed nothing in comparison. This life-giving flower had hung daintily between my lips just a moment ago. The power the thing possessed, it made me vibrate with chills. I had not seen any magic other than that of crafting. Crafting, it was startlingly beautiful, but I didn't see the beauty and power of crafting. Was I missing something?

My lids flutter for a moment, ridding my lashes of a few small drops of rain. I felt my tresses stuck to my neck like honey on fabric. The feeling was gross, weird, and far too strange. My hair was flattened by the added weight of water, and it molded on the supple curves of my thin neck. I felt myself getting lost in my thoughts a second time. What had the beast said? I was lost, confused. It was his voice against my brain. I wanted to think, but also hear. Why couldn't I do both? My brain seemed to venture elsewhere, whereas his voice stayed constant. I could almost feel what he was going to say, suggest, ask. Was this why I dared to let my mind drift away? Was I so sure I would know what he would say that I didn't even have to pay attention? It was impossible to do this. This orange beast is a stranger. his name, still unknown. He was the deepest abyss, a vast and untraveled place. He was new and interesting, a mystery, a puzzle, a black hole. I was just the scientist, trying to learn and experience this. I tried to reach the bottom, but it was too deep, too large, yet still fascinating. He is the novel one can't simply put down, each page is a new twist, each chapter a new problem and solution. He is a novel, for sure, but I wonder how this one will end-- be it in eloquent words of wise Shakespeare or insightful lessons of Seth Godin, I was sure I would love it. Then I realized... There are only three endings possible. 1: A happy ending. 2: A sad ending. 3: A neutral ending. This was the downfall. So many pages leading up to what? Is it truly worth reading this book? Yes, the words printed may be slightly different, but everything is a neutral boring. Even the cliff hangers aren't anything special, they've been downgraded to something less.

"Why fill the pages of your life with nothing of importance? Why not write your story out to be something grand, lustrous, brilliant? Why be the "one who saw everything happen" when you can be the one that "makes everything happen"? What could we possibly do while running from rain? I do have reason to believe you are an interesting horse, but you cannot even understand my words. Yet, maybe that's what will make this night interesting...." I whispered, my voice just loud enough for him to hear. I tried my best to mimic the 'Helovian' accent (albeit it wasn't very good, though). But this was more about content, should he understand. And 'this' being a glimpse of my inner mind, my mechanics. I'm not wired in an average way. I'm different. I think about things other would ignore. I'm not about to focus on one detail when the overall picture is much more pleasing.

Then he brings up my flower once more.

I think he was happy. I am not sure, as I cannot detect lies well. Perhaps he was one of those that enjoyed scars, wanted to keep them. Well.... Too bad, I guess. The glorious powers have already worked. He is healed of his injuries. "It was nothing, but now you must promise to help me when I need it." I replied, continuing my attempt and helovianizing my accent. Yet my request revealed another part of me. This was something perhaps mature to say, but who said I had to be mature all the time? I wanted to act like a filly in spring sometimes. oh yes, I'm the perfectly awkward mix of intelligent, feminine, naive, and childish. And now is when I wondered if people knew me as the jack of all trades, master of none. Was I doomed to this title of master of none for life? Or would I change into something more specific?

Ooc:; oh wow um okay. She got really weird ;~; and this was kind of everywhere and confusing, <.> @[Hector]

No Time for Lies and Empty Fights Words... They just kept coming – verbal diarrhoea, and it all meant nothing to the Warrior stallion mostly. He had little need for words in a world where only the strongest prevailed. Poetic license won nothing but a slit throat on the battlefield... It did occur to Hector however, that she spoke very much more clearly than every other time before, albeit ridiculously soft beside the thunder of falling rain. Although the flood of sentences seemed hardly more coherent than then a bunch of why’s and waffle - philosophical garbage probably, he mused jadedly, Hector graced her with a thoughtful enough glance. "Oh..." he added also with an expressive nod, pretending as best he could manage that everything purged by the slight mare had been well understood. She’s mad... he whispered on the side to Veci who was quite intrigued by her, thrilled and amused by his bonded’s growing perplexity. There was an awkward moment of silence before he mentioned the flower – a clever distraction? Maybe... It took him long enough to spell out. Modestly she told him it was nothing... Without hesitation though she continued, and the words which followed caused naught but a terse snort to erupt from gaping nostrils. "I what?" He hummed grimly, hardly enthused by her cunning attempt at exploitation; to bribe him. Hector’s brow furrowed cautiously as he glared at the bold creature before him, and he lifted his heavy skull until it sat propped atop his vertically ridged neck. He considered briefly unleashing Veci and leaving her there with him, deflating her clear arrogance just a little – or challenging her to another spar which no doubt would be safer. "You have all the cunning of a siren... Wicked woman," he gasped incredulously, leonine tail betraying his irritation as it lashed silken, soggy tendrils across his hocks. Blazing eyes narrowed as they fell across her deceptively charming exterior, the feminine curve of her face and each honeyed doe eye set upon it. "I will answer one call... What is your name?" Since apparently her tongue had shed the fierce accent enough for Hector to understand, he prompted her gruffly for a name.

@[Dröm]