.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
02-11-2015, 11:10 PM
The snow cracks and crunches beneath her twilight hooves, sending up a puff of silver dust to wreathe about her dark ankles, glittering patterns of infinitesimally small flakes. Chilled skin quivers subtly over warm sinew, breath fogging into curlicue clouds as she moves towards the northern reaches of Helovia, taking pleasure in her idle (broaching on lethargic) pace. In the thin of her summer coat, it tastes like winter here, supported by her chapped lips and papery lungs; if she were to take a wrong turn, perhaps she would be lost to the winter labyrinth. Maybe she would freeze in entirety, and the snow would swallow her up.
Nymeria lost, forever and always.
On the horizon, dark against the glassglow, sleek contours of the steppe, she observes a clustering of equines. Even if not for the drop of violent red against the feral backdrop warning her of her brother's dragon, she would've recognized each sweep in Volterra's sinew, each curve in his spine. Wombmates; one, forever.
"Ne felejtsd el!" Slender limbs break out into a loping trot, swallowing up the distance between her and her pig-headed brother in a matter of moments. Irises (bright as rubies) flick towards the unfamiliar pegasus colt, brows curling upwards in an expression middling between vague amusement and distant coolness; and then her eyes slide towards Arya, a cordial grin flickering on her lips. "I'm Nymeria, and he is Lilómiel." The skull-painted daughter lifts her dainty muzzle skywards in an easy, sweeping gesture meant to capture the black dragon tumbling through the sky far above.
Slender ears twitch, nares cusping to drink in the smell of salt on the breeze; lids widen, almost idly, to see Vérzés and the bucket. Clever.
Volterra: 1
Nymeria: 0
Damn.
Nymeria lost, forever and always.
On the horizon, dark against the glassglow, sleek contours of the steppe, she observes a clustering of equines. Even if not for the drop of violent red against the feral backdrop warning her of her brother's dragon, she would've recognized each sweep in Volterra's sinew, each curve in his spine. Wombmates; one, forever.
"Ne felejtsd el!" Slender limbs break out into a loping trot, swallowing up the distance between her and her pig-headed brother in a matter of moments. Irises (bright as rubies) flick towards the unfamiliar pegasus colt, brows curling upwards in an expression middling between vague amusement and distant coolness; and then her eyes slide towards Arya, a cordial grin flickering on her lips. "I'm Nymeria, and he is Lilómiel." The skull-painted daughter lifts her dainty muzzle skywards in an easy, sweeping gesture meant to capture the black dragon tumbling through the sky far above.
Slender ears twitch, nares cusping to drink in the smell of salt on the breeze; lids widen, almost idly, to see Vérzés and the bucket. Clever.
Volterra: 1
Nymeria: 0
Damn.
Nymeria & Lilomiel
Yes I lied, don't think about you all the time
All my switchblade words ain't aim to cut your sweet delusions
