Between two evils, always pick the one you have yet to try

Traveling, all the damn time. It was a never ending loop for Misael, but yet he hadn't done anything to find the hole in his cycle of repetition. Perhaps he felt as if he had no purpose, and that was why he wondered the new lands far and wide. Perhaps he was unknowingly searching for something, or someone. How could he know? He had met some lovely mares with his traveling, and even was going to be a father, but he still felt as if there was a void in him, something missing. These thoughts frustrated him as he let out a loud huff while entering the dragon's throat. He had yet to return to these lands, the last time he was here had been his first. It was quite unfortunate really, but he was distracted and never found the interest in traveling back to the lands of dunes and tumbleweed. Now, here he was, a refreshing desire to become and be surrounding him.

Tresses dragged along side of him as he walked, the throat was warmed by the blazing suns of tallsun, his large body and massive amounts of hair no help. Golden flecs of sand stirred beneath sun colored nails, the wind creating little sand tornados. He let himself stand for a moment, taking in all what the throat had to offer. The sand bite at his hawks like little stings over and over again. His mane whipped around him with furious lashes as the wind spun and danced, giddy with the warmth. In it's desolation it had a beauty to it, the red rock and vibrant chromes all melting together to form the Dragon's Throat-- Home.


"Talk?"
TAG: ANYONE
OCC: Meh intro posts are always meh, someone come meet my monster!

Mama never leaves me alone, and although I'm perfectly content with staying by her side, the world away from her seems all very interesting. I strain to understand by the colours she uses to describe things, the shapes that she says trees are, and the size of the oasis. It all seems to mystifying, but when I try and envision it, I get grainy textures and brittle shapes that expand for what seems to be forever. The 'sky' Mama describes is clouded by those trees that stretch far above my head to places I cannot reach, the ground beneath me is unpredictable and frightening. For months I've stumbled quietly, still unused to the long uneven limbs of mine. My own body seems ridiculous in shape, lumps and static and missing pieces. Nothing seems right. Mama says it's okay that I can't see, that it won't affect my ability to do anything, but there's so much it affects. 

If Mama steps too far I will not know where she is, if someone is approaching I cannot see them, predators lurk at night and I will never be able to know their arrival. Mama's warned me about them, but told me not to worry because she's there to protect me. I cling to her like she says leaves cling to trees, but I've never before seen a leaf  and trees are just rough textures to me and obstacles to slip around. So I like to say I cling to her like the darkness clings to my eyes. So waking up one night without her pushed me into a state of paralysis, my organs squashed beneath the weight of my fear as I had I started wailing, trembling uncontrollably as the vast emptiness of the world started to crush me. Mama swept in as quick as she could to gently tether me back to reality, cooing about how everything was alright and there was nothing to fear. I forgot to fall back asleep after that. 

Mama slipped away for a few moments, leaving me to my own. She told me to remain where I stood and I was perfectly okay with that, but I thought I heard thundering steps across the desert plain. As they got closer I tensed, ears on a swivel as I stood stiff, ruffling my fluffy feathers in anticipation. "Please don't run me over!" I squeak out, pathetic little words spilling from my quaking lips as I stumble around. Is there someone there? I try and reach forward, but find endless nothing. I huff out, ears falling back as I root my little hooves back into the grainy sand beneath my feet. "words."

Shahrokh

Between two evils, always pick the one you have yet to try

He travels not far into the desert lands, before a winged entered his view. It occurred to Miseal that he was some of the few here that was without wings, the gift of flight not one of the many gifts he had. He wondered how it felt to be able to soar about the terrains, to stretch the feathered appendages of the winged kind.It was a short thought though, as Miseal was perfectly fine with the crevices and "confines" of the lands, that he wondered so aimlessly about.

Golden orbs took in all the creature had to offer. He was colorful, all blacks, reds and yellows, young too. It was only when he got closer that he noticed the mass of tri-color feathers sitting at his poll, along with the dual set of horns that protruded from his ebonite face. Ah, he was a hybrid. The colt spoke, his words confusing the colored beast, why would he run him over? The colt seemed uneasy, fearful to say the least. Miseal was no kind man, but if his mother lurked around the corners he didn't feel like putting up with her wrath if she messed around with the colorful hybrid of hers. So with his deep baritones he tried not to sneak up on the boy, "Even a man of my size couldn't run you over, fear not." He chuckled.

"What is your name, child?"

"Talk?"
OCC: aww you have such a handsome boy!

I swallow abruptly, body trembling on its weak legs. Something within me screams that I could get crushed or attacked at any moment and never see it coming. The panic paralyzes me, my knees buckling up and readying to collapse beneath me as I fall apart on the inside. The terrifying reality of my spontaneous demise is all too real for my young form, I'm so vulnerable in this vast world, so small and fragile.

My lips hang open as my tongue dries out, giving a sandpaper texture to it as I rub it against the roof of my mouth, grasping for words to choke out. Deep in my throat my anxieties have tied a neat little knot, leaving me to stumble awkwardly an inch or two while my lungs collapse again. Panic spreads over me like a plague, my sudden sputter and cough a sign of my fears all crashing down in waves. The stranger before me serves no threat, but I do not know that. I cannot see their body language or the intent within their eyes when they speak to me. The blood coursing through my ears dampens their words, filling my world with a thundering sound that blocks out the panicked gasps leaving my lips. I've become a rattling mess of worry, the anxieties I hold tearing from my gut like carnivorous beasts. My desperation to not feel so alone, to not be so pitiful, it wells within my throat as I tremble and cough. Breathing in becomes a difficult task, sharp sputtering exhales leaving me lightheaded and tired. I won't make it, maybe I'll suffocate to death because of these cursed lungs I've been gifted with. It's odd that at such a young age I'd already be afraid of death, of getting stolen away by talons that will carry me to a dark abyss. 

In my final moments of this unexpected panic, I spew stuttering words. They're barely a whisper as they leave my tongue, caught up in my wasteland of a mouth. "Sh-Shah- Shahrokh." I spit, ruffled feathers quivering as I feel my paper thin skin begin to peel away, this stranger learning just a fraction about me but still more than most know. I barely make a sound to anyone but my mom, who even then rarely hears me speak. I prefer to sit and listen to what others have to say rather than offer my own words, to hear their wise words than taint their conversation with my naive ones."words."

Shahrokh

Between two evils, always pick the one you have yet to try

It is a response that Miseal did not expect, one that he had never seen before. The boy trembles, trips, and falls apart quite literally in front of him. The beast is confused to say the least, not sure on how to deal with the boy of lightning skin. Miseal wasn't sure if the culprit of such an attack was himself or what exactly had triggered such a rush of emotion and fear. Miseal didn't think he had done anything that would make sense of such a demonstration from the colt. 

Some may have reached out and tried to console the sobs and sputtering, but Miseal stood idly by, waiting for the feathered to realize that Miseal was going to be no harm. Did this boy not have someone to model after in his life? Where was the bouncing energy and naive wondering about that most children expressed? Why did he show such weakness? He thought about this for a while, questions bubbling and popping in a thick mixture of curiosity in the cauldron of disasters and dreams that was Miseal's mind. All Miseal knew, was that this young stallion would never be able to grow up, to live a life fruitful and prosperous if he nearly passed out underneath the light weight of Miseal's words. Although Miseal didn't like to think it, there were far worse things in the world then him. 

The boy gives his name at last, Shahrokh, a name that had all potential to take titles but was missing the urge to take such rankings. Miseal, despite have only meeting the lad, saw something inside him, that made him want to help him. Perhaps, it was a reflection of himself in the innocent silver eyes that pulled on a force that he didn't know he was even capable of possessing. Whatever it was, Miseal was willing to explore such drawings. "Harden up child, I do not wish to see you this way. What are you so afraid of?"  He asked, crowned cranium tilting in his wonder, words stern and strong. "I am Miseal of the Dragon's throat, we are no longer strangers, so please do not be fearful."


"Talk?"
OCC: I totally forgot about this thread! I am soooo sorry :/ && sorry Miseal's a bit of a dick 

My lids slip over my eyes, moistening the pointless lenses as my mind reels and slips along. I try and grasp at the idea that I am safe, that this man does not want me dead, that there is nothing for me to fear. All I can imagine is something like a tree, massive in size and bulk, muscles rippling under taut flesh and steaming from the nose and ears like some sort of overworked boiler. I remember the feeling of each part of mama, knowing well the way in which we work. I questioned her for hours on it, young mind soaking up such wondrously new information that for a time I'd forgotten how scary the world around us truly was. I envision pillars long and sturdy, balancing atop them a flexible, bloated body that wavers in the wind and is rather compact and firm. I recall the hardened muscle rippling beneath my dam's shoulder, the contraction and expansion of muscles as she craned her neck for me to reach. I purse my lips, drawing back these memories of discovery. We are odd creatures, mama tells me horses come in all shapes in sizes, that we are not all the same. Some may lack size but still hold muscle, there may be some that are tall and skinnier than mama's horn, or some plump from eating and bones swallowed by many days of fattening feasts. Mama says that I am still developing, that my size and mass will not be revealed until my horn has grown in and my voice stoops octaves below its current notes. I fell asleep as mama described me, giving soft nibbles along my withers as she compliments my eyes. She says they look like two little moons, but I don't know what the moon is. She says it lives in the sky, and this just confuses me further because why is there something living there in the sky? That open expanse must be lonely, being there wrapped up in all these different shades and shapes, watching everyone pass but no one bothering to acknowledge you.

A deep voice breaks my silent pondering, leaving me to prick my ears and listen to what he has to say. Harden up? He asks me to harden up. He asks me what I fear, and this pondering leaves me to question (once again) my own morality. This registration of life and how easily it can slip away at a moments notice, it's what I fear. My mouth hangs open and my milky eyes rest at a specific place in the darkness of my vision as I draw out the courage to speak. "I'm vulnerable." I murmur, eyes wide as if that will miraculously bring me sight. "Mama says that there are a lot of dangers out there, and that I'm disabled. Disadvantaged, open. She says I'm more likely to die than those who can see. But she still leaves me alone." My lip quivers as my squeaky voice whispers words too wise for a babe like me, I knew my thoughts expanded beyond what a normal child's would. Any chance of a carefree childhood has been crushed under the hooves of mama, who is a flurry of emotion when I near her. Some days she may openly accept my presence, allow me to snuggle up close and to trail along behind her with uneven steps. Other days she spits and rants under her breath, my ears picking up strings of words. Stupid, golden, liar, Aurelia. I hadn't gotten more out of her, because she seems to repeat the same thing over and over. I once tried to ask her what Aurelia was, and she cried and would not let me eat, merely wander strides behind her and hope it was her I was pursuing. 

"Oh- okay." I mumble, lowering my head. I'd never been formally introduced to anyone before, this was odd. I felt susceptible to worse fates than death now that I'd shared my identity. Mama says my name is a big integral part of my existence. Giving it out meant you opened yourself up to unwanted emotions and pointless conversations. Being lesser known was a way to keep yourself from getting hurt, so mama says. I could hear that she hurt when she told me this, that there was something wrong in her head. She didn't tell me and I didn't need to know, because the way her voice wavered at the mention of being broken by others shows that it's a personal matter. "H-Hi, Mi- Misael." Misael. The name is tucked away into the deepest recesses of my mind, paving the way for a more sociable life (one I don't think I'll be taking)."words."

Shahrokh