macaria

palest shadow; darkest light

The forest crinkles and cracks beyond her sight and her attention is immediately honed to the source of this small commotion. The mare's light fur is the first thing to give away her equine form and then soon the patter of her feet is recognized as that of hoofed animal walking nearer and nearer. Macaria grins, water dribbling from her pale lips a she swallows the last mouthful of cold water she's been sipping under the moonlight. She watches the mare nestle on the pebbled shore with her basket – something Macaria hadn't really seen up close before. It seems like a lovely enough concept. Put things in it. Carry them around. FUN. She spins around to meet the mare face on, but doesn't move to step from the chest deep pool. “No, no, I did not make this, I just found it. I wish I could make things.” Like Brisa, at home. As her warm syrup voice spills from her mouth she quirks her white face to the side, her leonine tail twirling and dancing contemplatively. “That would be amazing.” Her tone is spacey and dreamy. She's lost in her daydream of creating for a moment. Her golden eyes refocus on the mare, “Can you make things?” Her childish innocence is written all over her. She knows nothing of anything, really. A little bit of self pity here and there and the embrace of her family – her family. She was a peaceful girl in a world of warriors. They seemed to be at a lull, a stage of sluggish rest she guesses – They will return to their old selves. They will be defending and slashing and fighting soon enough.

No time for thoughts of your weird family. Cold. Cold.

When her eyes drop to the pool below she can no longer see her reflection but instead a slew of ice and half-frozen chunks tinkling together as they continued to cool. Her skin tightens and the coldness begins to sting as she wades toward shore. She manages to clamber over the pebbles and out of the water, shaking free of the cold water as best she could. “Phew! Burrr!” Her steely gray coat is shivering and soaked to the bone with icy river water. Weak sparks sporadically pop and crackle over her dapples, falling a fizzling out onto the green forest floor. She keeps shaking. She even tries cantering in small circles for a second to get her blood warmed. The sparks get a bit stronger and hiss louder as they liven across her dappled back. She calms down and moves to stick her nose toward the water in wonderment, smiling still and whipping her tail at her ankles. “What's up with that?” She gestures to the water as it continues to freeze. She knows it's magic..but who's? Not this mare here, right? She is fascinated. Her eyes search the surface of the pool and then the edges. Macaria checks behind her, and to each side. She cannot manage to see anything amongst – OH! She snorts and squeals “HEY!” She chimes and trots toward the white splotch amongst the tree trunks and leaf-litter. The stranger in on the banks, her nose to the water. Very suspicious. “Hey you! How do you do that!? It's awesome!?” She doesn't approach the stranger in case it's not so friendly. Wouldn't be the first time things randomly took a turn for the violent. She watches carefully for a reaction, keeping an ear bent to the mare with the basket.