Dröm ♞

He was a sturdy stallion of about seven, and her eyes were glued on him, watching cautiously. Though she is very little, she is fierce. She had come as a single spy, nothing near a battalion, yet her passion and dedication may just make her as strong as one. The siren-like warrior calls to her, though she is not afraid. His voice is tempting her forwards and without second thought, she is gracefully walking towards him. Soon, though, claws will be unleashed and she will have to fight for her life, her freedom, and in that respect he embodies a siren wholly.

He stands like a wall, unmoving and unmovable. She stops a good distance away, about six or seven canter strides away from him. Dröm knows well why she is here. The girl trembles now, afraid of him and what he will do to her. She is frail now, bones protruding and hide dull. Her ivory markings are darkened with dirt and grime, now an unappealing grey. Her cracked and dry lips do not move, as she has no reply for the brute that has called out to her- the thief.

She tried to recall her motive to steal the stallion, but nothing came to mind. There was no motive. Ridiculous that may sound, yet there has never been a statement truer. The rise of emotions pent up within the gold mare had finally climaxed and in a haze of an outstanding variety of emotions, she had attempted to steal a stallion King.

Her brows furrowed for a moment, and she wondered if the king was truly going to challenge her. It would surely be an easy win for him, considering her malnurited state. In fact, it may be too easy. Could Dröm end up dead? Caramel gaze falls to the ground, heavy in thought. She wondered silently if they could conjure up some sort of deal. Surely his herd mates would think him foul for using a short, underweight, Arabian as a punching bag.

Her ears remained forwards and her lips were pressed into a hard line as her gaze sought his once more. The stallion radiated power, and she was sure that if he ordered 'sit', her ass would be on the ground in a matter of seconds. Maybe she was more suceptible to meeting his demands now that her health was on the line, for she'd never have previously been so easily ordered around. Not even Midas would've been able to order around. No one had that leverage, no one but this challenger.

She fidgeted awkwardly, wanting to say something but at the same time wanting to stay so quite that it's as if she isn't there at all. Everything around them fell silent, and the mare even held her breath. This could be called the calm before the storm, but she was left to wonder, 'Is this a regular rainstorm or a tornado heading straight for me?'

"If in your desires you seek blood, then it is mine you will surely get, for I have no strength nor knowledge of war to fend you off. I am the farthest thing from a fighter, I only seek to heal, serve the gods as a Storyteller, or perhaps craft. I don't, can't, fight. I hate fighting, I despise fighting. Fighting is cruel, especially since the main goal is to injure, harm, damage, kill your opponent. It's--" She grew quieter and quieter with each word until she just stopped talking altogether. At a loss for words, she just closed her eyes and shook her head, disappointed. Not in her challenger,not in warriors, in herself. She seemed to be on the opposing side of everything. She had grown worn out, always resisting everything. She'd never gone with the flow. "Nevermind," she added quietly. She wouldn't expect him to understand her, no one could. Why would someone who seeks blood and war understand her point of view? Tiredly, she changed her stance to a defensive one and waited for the brute to attack.

OOC: Dröm appears, says a few words, then waits. You may have first attack :) also, Dröm's in a weird mood if you can't tell xp @[Kaj]
Attack: 0/4
Words: 681
"chatting."

_shoot for the ^{s t a r s}