the hidden won't hide

[OPEN] the hidden won't hide

Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549

Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5

Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT

Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit Bunnie

04-05-2016, 11:17 AM (This post was last modified: 04-05-2016, 12:00 PM by Rikyn.)

Rikyn

While he gathers his bearings and drips blood and sweat into the sand, the gentle thud of hooves draws his attention away from the shudder of his overexerted lungs, and the steady roar and crackle of his soul struggling against how big such a small hole could become.

The notion that the Edge was home to his family was common place – what was not common was the thought that others lived there, others he may not care for, as he didn’t care for this girl. Her sails are broad and white against the blue canvass of the sky and sea, struggling against the wind that reaches its cold fingers deep into the heated tissue of the riled youngling, tousles his wild and unkempt hair about his shoulders. For what feels like too long their eyes meet; his wild, white rimmed golden ones, narrowed with hatred not entirely belonging to the hybrid before him, like molten shards of metal glint through the rough, salt flavored wind to appraise her twinkling, kindly seafoam gaze as unworthy.

Its like she hears him curse her very being her, as if she knows that the hard breaths staggering through his clenched throat grow more ragged and savage at the sight of someone so very horrid to him during his time of weakness, and she turns around as if she’s going to just go away. Why her? He honestly would rather Ki’irha, or the white and gold mare from his dreams, and maybe its the thrash and curl of his tail, the way his whole figure stiffens and his head, normally raised, lowers, or maybe she’s just not stupid enough to go around prodding hostile unicorns who don’t particularly care for her.

Even more frustrating than her arrival is that she shows him her back, the slanted tips of her white wings permeated by the sunlight from above, the curls of her obnoxiously unicorn tail swaying in the wind that carries her mist and woodland smell to him. Why did she even let her presence be known if she was just going to walk away, without a word?

Did she think that, by turning away now, she could drive a dagger into his heart? That she could spit at his hooves without a word, “you mean nothing to me, watch me see you struggle and give absolutely zero shits.” The way she turns her back is so like the way other women have turned their backs on him, and it makes the sting return to the corners of his eyes, the beach blurring against his will.

It doesn’t suit him. It doesn’t suit the broiling pit of loathing that spits and sizzles within him, the sight of her turned back rousing his hooves into a canter that quickly brings him alongside her, his speed spurred at the last moment to pull ahead, haunches slamming down to try and swing his fore half in front of her, cutting off her traipse down the beach.

"Where the fuck do you think you are going?" snarls the unicorn, prepared to try and snatch her up by her pretty white curls, and beat her senseless into the sand if she tries to continue on down the beach (the presence of her herd land over his shoulder already forgotten), "did the scene not suit you this time, you little nuisance?"

The light of his golden eyes is vivid, animalistic, the veins along his figure obvious in the faux black velvet of his pelt. The tracks of tears are true black lines along the ridges of his face, torn free in his mad dash to intercept her, now welled somewhere in his throat – perhaps why such a rasp pervades each syllable of his voice.