The threshold is a quaint place, it would almost remind him of home, if it weren't for the constant reminders as to why it exactly it wasn't which plagued his senses as he walked. It was not flood season for a start, and neither was he southward in his entrance to this place. It smelled different too, it was not rich with the smell of rain or acrid dirt scorched under unrelenting heat and drought. Birds sang their merry songs and the wildlife upon the turf bounded through the brush and thick roots.

It wasn't like home at all, he decided with a silent snort. Hadn't that been the reason he had traveled so far and risked so much? All on a hunch, all on a few spared words before he had bid farewell to an old friend.

Kiuaji was on the precipice of no return, once he had entered, there was no going back.

Thick canopy provided shade from the sun that ruled in his lofty eyrie, not that he minded the heat once it touched his striped back, without the speckled shadows cast by greenery. Quite the contrary, he enjoyed the sun just as much as he enjoyed the rain when the time came for it.

Kiuaji moved silently onward, graceful and effeminate in his step. Plum stained hooves touched where they were deliberately set, every movement was for a reason, illusions and fabrications to betray the eye to who and what he was. That was his job after all, to mystify and mislead, he would weave these intricate threads time and time again in order to ruin. Walls and emotions were often the quarry, he shattered hearts and made widows. It was sickeningly poetic his job, he had to admit, pierced ear flickered with his thoughts, you could write romances based upon assassins and their quarries, poisoners and their intended.

There had been no love for him, however, to sing about in his most penultimate campaign. The only embrace he felt was the strong sense of duty and honor to friends, the repulsion to barbaric acts against a proud nation.

Conflicted emotions and morals, for a stallion that made his life the misery of others who couldn't make him go away.

Eventually, his step came to a close. Trot became a whimsical walk among the ancient oak clearing he had stopped in, then stilled within the refreshing waters of the spring creek that snaked it's way through. Impressive horns spiraled and caught in the light, casting them in a warm light and soaked his back with pleasant warmth as he resigned to rest momentarily.

Amethyst eyes glanced around twice, making sure that there was no one he had missed beyond the brush and low scrub, company wouldn't of been dismissed but that was besides the point. Satisfied, he retired to refreshing himself with the icy water beneath him, a lone shadow of Dorobo seeking momentary respite in his journey.



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notes;;

talking

It had been a long while, seasons, since he had traveled to the Threshold. He had not been here since… since he had become King? There had been other duties that had called attention and taken his time, so he had neglected the Threshold. He hadn’t consciously missed it; but, as heavy ivory hooves carried the man through the faintly familiar trees, he found that he had missed it. This was a place of renewal, of beginnings, of blank slates. This was a place where every new face, despite their past, could create, bond to companions, earn magic, fight gods, make families.

His mind soured at the last thought. How long ago had it been when he had walked through the Threshold? When he, in his great bulk, had been stuck between two trees in the denser parts of the forest. And a golden mare and spotted man had greeted him— he had chosen the way of the cliffs. How different would his life had been if he had chosen the mountains?

He shook his head, there was no use mulling over such possibilities. The past was done, he knew that better than most. Had he not, personally, laid to rest his own demons when he journeyed to Helovia? That had been his intention, anyway.

Head flew up, eyes probing the trees, nostrils flared wide as the sucked in the cool air. That scent. He knew that scent, that was a smell from Dorobo. One he had not sensed in so very long… Violet eyes and a dry laugh flashed through his mind, and suddenly he was moving. Trotting briskly, heavy body shaking the earth as he wound through the trees. He was much more adept at it now than he had been so many moons ago.

His hooves halted in water, sending a spray of glittering droplets into the chilled air. Blue eyes were wide as they stared. “Aji?” The question was incredulous and ecstatic and sorrowful; so many layers in those two, familiar syllables. “What—how? Does Dorobo stand?” his chaotic questions suddenly led to a drop in his barrel— was the Banderi marching here?!

But, despite the panic that threatened, he took sweeping strides towards one of the few men he trusted with his life, great neck thrown out without hesitation, aimed to sweep the man in an elephantine hug. “It is good to see you here, A—” but his words are suddenly cut short by the high-pitched giggle of a foal.

Eyes widen further (if it was possible), “You’re a father?!” His low voice was uncharacteristically high in the cumulative surprises sprung upon him by fate. And a smile further broke on his masked face, lighting his eyes and and further highlighting his shock.

But, sadly, it was short-lived.

Navy eyes darken as they study the colt over Kiuaji’s slender, barred back. This was no foal of Dorobo. This golden, red-speckled child was of Helovia. And those markings of the eyes… There was no other with those markings. His face folds in on itself, becoming impassive as the foal circles and questions. If this was her child, then surely she would be soon to follow.

He takes a half step away from his childhood friend, ears tilting backwards as the euphoria of seeing Aji and the dread of known that woman was soon to appear battle within him. The thought to leave and take the barred-man to the Edge right now crosses his mind… but they he could not leave her any foal to fend for itself on the edges of the wilds. They were barely within Helovia, here.

He sighed, gently nudging his friend’s sloping shoulder— a shoulder that had many mistaking him for a mare rather than the deadly poisonous stallion he was. “I am glad to see you, my friend,” he murmured lowly, before shifting his eyes to the unfortunately inquisitive foal, “You would do well to not lose your mother, little one. I know she’ll be worried about you,” the way he spoke the words implied a deeper knowledge of the colt’s dam. Indeed, Rexanna, with this being her first live child, would be the ever-watchful mother.

Any peace Kiuaji had wanted, was sorely short lived. The cool moisture had barely passed his velvet lips and down his throat before noise reached his pierced ears. Deep orbs of violet rolled to where the noise had originated from, but he made no move to remove his muzzle from the creek.

By his own admission he had made many times, in pleasurable company and when he had gritted his teeth and pledged himself to War, foals were something the crowned poisoner had little time for. Or little want. His calling in life left very little room for a very little thing to latch itself upon him, grow very big, and in the meanwhile be dependent and wanting upon the marked stallion's attention and time.

The thought of war brought vivid and bitter images to the forefront of the shadow lurkers mind, how he had stood shoulder to shoulder with the elephant general as they gazed upon all they had accomplished, they had broken and bent the government to it's knee's in the name of vengeance and justice.

It is easily pushed aside by the sight of the golden babe that pranced from the brush, only then the water ceased to pass his lips and his head lifted gracefully from it's position. This speckled foal had though him his mother, and a light smirk played upon his lips as he moved to stand tall and proud — lofty crowns casting an even longer shadow in the backdrop of the sun as he peered down at the curious thing that bounded upon him. Kiuaji examined him closely, he is small and compact, not the kind of foals you saw in Dorobo who surely would grow to stand head to head with their fathers if not a head taller. Neither did he smell of heat and savannah grass but of freshness of new fallen snow.

The reply is weighted on his tongue until another set of hooves interrupt his impromptu meeting with the foal who smelled of northern winters. Kiuaji's visage of careful concealment is shattered by the stallion who breaks into the clearing, Tembovu, as golden and proud as he remembered him the nights before he left their homeland. His elation is matched with a dry laugh from the poisoner, it came from deep in his chest and filled with all the elation and relief he could muster. "Bov." He greeted, long tail swept around his hocks with the nickname to half rest in the waters he stood in. "You look as though you've seen a ghost." He added after a moment, the sudden reunion drowned out the foal in front of him for the time being.

"The sun rises in Dorobo as it always does, but the land does not glow radiantly beneath it." It's a cryptic response, for he knew the weight his words carried between them. The many hands they had played, and the many paths they had walked together, the many consequences some may seek to enact upon them both and those that had flocked to Tembovu's banner. He is also cryptic because vaguely his mind remembered that there was a pair of young ears in their midst, ones that did not need to hear or know of war crimes and the fall of empires. They would have to catch up more openly, when little ears were absent.

"They know nothing." The Banderi do not march for this place, their gaze is elsewhere. He has known Tembovu too long not to know what may or may not be going through his friend's mind, so he speaks to hopefully wash away any dark thoughts that may have nestled within. His own neck extended in order to meet the stallion half-way, to gladly accept Tembovu's embrace, however, the stride is cut short by the sound of child's glee as is the others words and his own.

Ah, the foal, amethysts return to the unnamed one as his neck craned in unusual finesse and then back to Tembovu when he questioned if he had sired the boy. Kiuaji's brow raised in response, and threatened to raise further still when the light and warmth vanished from his old friends face. He does not respond to the foal straight away, instead he is caught trying to assume and work out what caused the others polar shift without giving his concerns a voice.

There is something about that foal, he thought and he let out a breathless snort toward the elephant. He knew already that they would have to wait for the foals mother to show up, and he settled into a comfortable stance — sculpted hips and top line cocked to his left. While he possessed a rather impassive view on unruly foals and all offspring in general, he saw it as if they had the stupidity to get lost then it was simply their job to find their mother again, Tembovu believed the opposite.

The gentle nudge to his shoulder brought him back from his maelstrom of thoughts, and he remembered the small one's question directed to him. "I am Kiuaji." The striped stallion responded, "and who are you?" A pitiful, paltry attempt to at least play nice, he found it better to extend his nose and gently press it to Tembovu's neck after he'd spoken. A silent note of affection, of concern to see if the General was alright. It was all too easy to mistake him as a mare with his air's and graces, his well placed affections and touch all to easily masked what really lay beneath the surface.

The child had all the luck by simply being too small and in the right place to see and know that the poisoner was not the delicate sex. That, and he had been forced to leave his more luxurious tools at home, his silk and gold had been left abandoned in favor of finding Helovia. All that was left was the golden disc which sat upon his ear now, he would have to make do with improvising for the mean time.

"It is good to see you too, old friend. It has been far too long." Kiuaji returned, his attention had been taken elsewhere but he kept his eyes on the babe that pranced and giggled around them. Which quickly became disrupted as they rolled with Tembovu's careful, parental notes directed toward the colt, whether he approved of the slightly larger stallion's soft spot for foals or not —what he did know was when there was something more hidden behind them.

"Do you know of his mother?" Words are hushed and airy, his lips barely moved for them while he examined the colt once more, his head stayed close to the thickened neck that his muzzle had ghosted upon moments before. Kiuaji often associated mares with foals, and stallions who knew of them to be intertwined in some way. Whether it be a fling that happened before the mare became pregnant, or the promise of something more when they no longer had them at their side. It certainly was not one of Tembovu's children, Dorobo would of made a strong mark upon that golden pelt rather than the spotted flecks which marked it instead, a mark that would burn onto their children after. Who was this mysterious mother, and what connection did she have with Tembovu?




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notes;; slipping in here to make Bov & Aji more cozy ;D

talking

“You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.” In a way, the giant has. The man had put Dorobo to rest— he had left it, those who had supported his revenge, and those he had used to achieve it. He had left it in ashes, and rebirthed himself upon arriving in Helovia. So to see Kiuaji, his foalhood friend and ally in the Fall… it revives many memories, both pleasant and destructive.

“They know nothing.” His friend knew him well, he had forgotten how well, as the poisoner answered the question that bubbled on his lips. Relief coursed through him, and tension he had not realized was there, released in his withers. He further relaxes as the effeminate man of gold (where was all of it? and his silks?) meets and returns his embrace— there are some friendships that stand the test of time and fall of empires. Theirs was made stronger for it— Aji not only providing guidance through the dark underbelly of Dorobian politics, but also accepting the demons that prevailed in the Elephant while he destroyed Makutano.

At the wry rise of his brows in silent answer to his questioning of his fatherhood, he could not help the short and low chuckle that vibrated in his chest, despite awaiting the foal’s true linage, “I should know better.” Certainly Aji was not one for parenthood, though Tembovu had seen some glimmers of promise in him when he had met Faxr with playful antics whenever he felt none were looking— but that was Tembovu’s foal, and not his own… A cloud passed over the jubilantly navy gaze.

“It is good to see you too, old friend. It has been far too long.” He leaned into the gentle touch, a more effeminate gesture from his friend, but one he appreciated as the warmth of his smooth muzzle and scent of sands and jasmine filled his nostrils. A low rumble in his barrel indicated his agreement, but his eyes remained trained on the speaking foal, spritely in his naivety.

“Rein,” the name is said carefully, the hardness in his cobalt eyes softening at the bright antics of the leggy, golden colt. He said his name so proudly, tail flicking away the concerns of adults as he discarded the whereabouts of his mother— as if he is used to her shortly following wherever he roamed. Indeed, the Elephant had no doubt Rexanna was Rein’s hovering, anxious shadow. An ear flicked sideways in ambivalence as they waited for the dam, “I am Tembovu, King of the World’s Edge.” He wasn’t sure why he included the title to a foal— certainly it held little true meaning for a youth, other than the impression of their vague understanding of ‘Kings.’ Perhaps he said it satisfy the smaller parts of his massive heart— perhaps so that Rexanna’s foal would run to his sire and brag that he had met a King that day.

He looked to Aji as he was asked of the Rein’s mother. “I do.” That was it. The simple confirmation spoke volumes, for to say so little to a friend who knew so much… He didn’t really need to say more.

It would take much more than the distance between Dorobo and Helovia, to bring the loyalty and friendship shared between the two Stallion's to it's knees, Kiuaji's mind was as an old dragon's, stubborn and defiant to let such pitiful things steal from it's treasure. It had been that very friendship and fealty which had brought this gilded specter out from the pages of the past, from the pages Tembovu had turned and left to memories, and into the present. Memories had become flesh again, determined to be written about once more with more fervor and light hearted tones, as they had been in the beginning of the long tale. 

Where were they indeed, for he looked naked and unlike himself when he was denied his luxuries, at least, that was what he felt. The poisoner looked much better when swathed in expenses and trickery, they helped to further conceal his intentions all the more. Now they were scattered to the four corners of Dorobo, the smaller of the two assumed, as he had passed them off to a contact a number of days before his departure. No matter, he was sure Tembovu could point him in the direction of crafters of such finery here.


"I would look out of place with a foal at my side, no?" Kiuaji smirked, amusement dancing in the deep pools of violet. Faxr had been a different story, he had known Mara and Tembovu all of his life, he found himself warmed towards the offspring of his dear friends in a way he could not summon to feel for one of his own. Truly, Faxr had brought something out of Kiuaji that he not felt before, like a proud Uncle he had doted when he believed no one was looking. Like an proud Uncle laid low in the ashes of hidden emotions, he had mourned when Mara and Faxr became victims to Makutano's vicious agenda. The poisoner mourned privately, silently behind closed doors and a veil of harsh winter as he sought to get his vengeance for Dorobo, for Mara and Faxr, for the other families brought to ruin by greed that was not their own.

'That's a weird name. Not bad, though!' He snorted at those words, weird name? His name was perfectly normal and so very fitting — if anything, Rein was the odd one out in this impromptu get together. Kiuaji didn't miss the pride the little one had put into his name when he had announced it, and for that the effeminate stud could give him his due. Introductions were everything, if you stuttered and stumbled over your own name, then you would forever be the fool that couldn't say his name. "Rein, does your name have a meaning?" He questioned lightly, names often had meanings, didn't they? Gifted by parents to be fitting representations of their offspring as they grew into fine young adults, and wizened elders.


King of the Edge.

Kiuaji's glittering orbs turned to his friend once more, a look of surprise and then belated mirth appeared on his delicate features. "Well, I never thought I would be addressing you as King one day, your Majesty." his tone turned playful, "when were you going to tell me you'd taken up the mantle of King? Or were you hoping to surprise me with it later?"

Any more words that had been on the tip of his tongue are soon pushed aside when a golden hued mare stepped into their thicket, Rein's mother he assumed as she quickly pulled him to her side. Usually, he wouldn't of bothered paying her much attention, as a foolish mother allowing her child to prance off without good reason was undeserving of his time, it was her appearance which drew it instead. "She's a dead ringer of Mara." He stated in disbelief, unabashed in his announcement of the gold mare's similarities to his deceased friend and mate of the Elephant King.

Is this why he knows her? Was Tembovu chasing ghosts of lost love down gilded hallways? Chasing maidens who reminded him so dearly of how Mara had looked in the halls of his heart? She had been the sun, filled with light and sweetness, bringing with her the breath of spring and fresh air. This maiden smelled of deep winter and brought the cold withering air of the north with her.


To Kiuaji, she was no sun, she was no bringer of light and kindled of passionate fires. She was an imposter, with a foal at her heels that wasn't crafted in Tembovu's image.

Had Tembovu gotten to know this creature out of hope? Wanting this maiden to fill his heart, with the same music and light as Mara had?

He wanted to ask, he wanted to know,  if he was right.



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notes;;

talking

A hint of surprised coursed through him as Aji questions the foal— yes questions— about his name. Brows raise, wondering how much his friend had changed since he had last seen him… Though was hardly one to speak, emphasized by the Aji’s glittering eyes and mirthful words after his own Kingship. He retuned a lopsided, if slightly strained, amused smile, “Take care with your jests, my friend. You address a King,” the remainder of his teasing is stolen by the bright, happy answer of Rein.

He ignores the unreasonable irritation he feels at Rein’s answer (Rexanna’s name combined with another’s?) Though his eyes drop to watch the happiness bubbling from the colt, pride at his parentage. Again, something painful further softening in his chest. He cannot help the small smile that turns up the corners of his lips as the red specked colt’s jaw drops. The warmth in his navy pools falters, sadness rippling across their surface, at the youthful exclamations. Rexanna had told her son of him? That he was nice? He had hardly been nice at the shore, when he had last seen the gilded Thief. Sorrow and guilt began to smolder in his deep chest. He opened his mouth to reply, but the words died on his lips as the Rexanna burst into view.

He is surprised at how sharply he feels the painful kick in his barrel when gilded siren suddenly appeared before the two, massive stallions. The pain heats and twists as her slender, gilded neck wrap around the foal her son, silky charcoal and ivory locks cascading in a curtain around the scene of maternal instinct.

That could have been his child.

The thought is seared from his mind, painfully and resolutely. Was there not already enough pain between them? A foal (a lively, beloved child) would surely be collateral damage. Black-rimmed ears tilt backwards at the unhappy, unwelcome thoughts— never would he want that for his child.

Cerulean eyes (the haunting gaze) lift; they first look to and nod at Aji (he notes with irritation). But the he has her eyes, his name quietly on those soft lips. She peered at him from beneath golden chains, his gift from a happier time (and suddenly the lions’ claw at his chest is heavy). “Rexanna—” the hoarseness of his rumble is cut off by his friend’s effeminate voice.

“She’s a dead ringer of Mara.” Gods curse it. Eyes widen marginally, jerking to the violet gaze of his friend. Ignored are the quiet, endearing apologies of Rein. Instead, his mind raced— he had never intentionally kept this fact from Rexanna… but he also had never freely volunteered it. Had his original attraction to the mare been because of her resemblance to his dead Mara? Time and love had woven too intimate a path for him to truly know if that is what had happened that fateful day in the Threshold.

But, as his gaze threw daggers at Aji, he had a feeling that this would not be a welcome surprise sprung on Rexanna from a stallion she did not know. A short, shallow sigh blew from his black nostrils before his spoke, voice firmer but tone marginally futile, “Rexanna this is Kiuaji, an old friend from Dorobo, who sometimes does not know when to hold his tongue.” He braced himself.

Kiuaji had changed, and then he hadn't at all. The aftermath and ruin of the Government as they knew it would have any snake shed it's skin in order to greet the dawn, Kiuaji had been no different. However, a snake could shed it's skin, but the colour and what laid beneath always stayed the same. Most of all, the venom it kept stored was most definitely still the same. "Ah, forgive me then, your grace." Bright eyes slide to side glance his oldest friend, as his marked lips pulled into a smirk. "I'll take care to not tread on your hooves, but I feel they're a rather large target to not miss."

One ear flicked forward to catch Rein's reply to his question. "Is that so..." The reply trailed and he gave it no conclusion, he let it fade out into nothingness in favor of his own thoughts. Rein seemed proud that he bore the union of his mothers and fathers names, whereas Kiuaji found it a rather extreme form of vanity on his parents behalf. The irony wasn't lost that he, a vain creature himself, was chiding his parents silently. They had created him, and no doubt he carried the coat of his parents neatly packaged and blended into one, and then went one step further to brand him with their own names. Did all Helovian's do this? He hoped not, it'd be a rather dull affair to learn everyone's names if they were all named in the image of their parents.

Rexanna received coldness from the poisoner, ringed ears swept backwards as he regarded her once more. He does not falter when he felt the iron hot daggers thrown his way by Tembovu, he'd been given more volcanic ones by Dorobian Politicians as they realized he'd danced circles around them without lifting a hoof. He'd also been given harsher ones when noble soldiers had realized they had sparred in the hopes of winning the heart of the lovely maiden that wasn't quite the maiden she appeared to be. He'd contend with Tembovu's choice words later when the gilded mistress and her foal were a long way from the pair, safe from whatever would be said between the venomous stallion and elephant king.

She gazed at him with a piercing look, as though she expected it to move him, what did she want? What did she expect? For him to flinch and retract his statement? To be rattled by those winter cold eyes?hardly. She had stepped into the spotlight with those eyes, and Kiuaji answered them with his own bite, unfolding the venomous and acidic gaze often reserved for those that he had marked for misery and misfortune.

"If everyone spent their days holding their tongue, nothing would ever get done, hm?" It was a curt response, not filled with warmth or jested undertones he often laced upon his words, and it was certainly unapologetic. Long gold and silver stranded tail caught in a delicate sweep to lash around his legs, splayed across the ground like liquid rivers of precious metal as he shifted his svelte frame into a more comfortable position. "Did you? What a remarkable hand fate played." Crowned head tilted to the side, catching the wondrous horns upon his brow in the shutters of sunlight that leaked through the canopy to illuminate them in a gentle halo of light. How interesting that fate had decided to throw a ghost come again to Tembovu after making such a long, tiring journey from a land filled with ghosts to a promised land filled with new beginnings. Amethyst danced between the two sets of blue and finally landed on the most innocent of blues nestled by their mothers breast when attention had been drawn back to him.

Would she be so soft, so encouraging of Rein to welcome him if she knew the plague they were welcoming to their land? Would she try to press on past the statement he had declared so nonchalantly if she was aware he had made widows out of mares like her, and orphans of foals as precious as her own flesh and blood? What would she do if she knew most intimately that his heart was a nest of serpents and his veins flowed with every ounce of venom they had to give?

He would remain unmoved from this slight, and neither would he forgive the image of Mara she wore.

"Your welcome is much appreciated, little one." His eyes fading from their malicious edge to one of warmth and mirth, beating Rein to the punch of delivering his own version of his mothers welcoming.




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notes;;

talking

The Elephant shifted beneath the sharp stare of Rexanna, lips pursing as her voice took a new edge towards him “I find it surprising considering you hold yours well enough.” He looked at her hard, standing with a gilded child marked red by another stallion’s loins. Irritation bubbled in him— why was he feeling remiss and guilty when it was she with another’s foal at her teat?

Because he hadn’t told her.

He had told her plenty, more than he had told most in Helovia. But he had not told her how similar her appearance was to his dead mate. How does one bring that up? How does one bring such a thing up? And he had been using her to built a wall of light between him and his dark past. He had been using her— that realization clattered in his skull, so much so that he nearly missed Aji’s silken, curt reply to both himself and Rexanna.

It brought him to the present, eyes snapping towards the serpent. That was enough, it was time for him to remove his dangerous friend. This fact was only expounded upon by the effortless snub Aji afforded Rexanna by appreciating only Rein’s welcome. His teeth clenched once, suppressing the urge to sigh and roll his eyes heavenward, “Aji,” his weary voice held a futile warning. He knew his friend would say and do as he pleased.

He lowered his great head turned his full attention to the colt, “Well met, little Rein. Try not to cause your mother too much trouble,” he then raised his head to fix a complicated gaze on the Thief’s, “Congratulations on your child, Rexanna.” The words, though simple, were heavy and spoke volumes.

He looked to Kiuaji, “Let us go to the World’s Edge.”

This was all rather fun, isn't it? The thought swirled around his head as he gazed at the gilded pretender, a great game had begun, a game it seemed the Elephant King had tried —  and failed miserably — to stem. The serpent had found it's quarry, and his scaled hide would ease ever closer to Rexanna every time she faltered, every thoughtless point in time she forgot to check over her shoulder — he would move his pieces into place and he would watch her closely from the shadows.

Let us see what this false mistress is made of, he hissed silently, masked as an airy sigh when Tembovu spoke his name. It became apparent that the game would have to be stopped for the day, neatly nestled to a safe spot in the shadows until the two could dance again, whether Rexanna wanted to or not. Glittered amethyst's moved to observe his larger companion and a gentle, but dangerous, smile played upon his lips. "Bov, my dear?"

There's is a moment where Tembovu turned his attention back to the colt at her side, and imparts words on him in such a way that is him entirely, causing the serpent to roll his eyes. Yes, do keep out of trouble, little one and keep your mother out of it, if you can. Those words are left to die on his tongue in favor of pleasantries he often employed during speeches to the council, and mingling with them in the comforts of their lavish abodes. "Yes, he is very handsome indeed. You and his father must be very proud." It would also be wise to note, that the pleasantries often were laced with jibes dressed as pretty compliments.

Let us go to the World's Edge.

"Let us then, I'm curious to see this herdland you rule, and all the wonderful equines in it." He passed a glance to Rexanna and Rein in his next breath. "So many faces, so little time to get to know them all, hm? It has been a pleasure, my darlings." The dangerous edge washes off of him like dirt from the lotus petals in the rainy season, leaving them pristine and white — luring you away from the bottomless lake they floated upon. An elegant stride of long legs and easing into a walk that could only be described as a slink, what little bulk may have defined him as some kind of stallion is lost, replacing him with the mannerisms and softened light often found on the fairer sex. He didn't miss the opportunity to flick his tail at his friend as he passed, long strands fleeting in their hold around the giant's thick neck before they fell once more to the grassy carpet like precious veins of gold.


"Rexanna, we simply must do this again, no?" Neck elegantly craned like a swan to gaze at the golden mare, purple hues filled with synthetic pleasantries and farewells, with that — he disappeared into the forested outcrop, knowing that his friend would catch him up.






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notes;;

talking