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The unicorn exhales and his breath is warm and sweet and smells like grass; he is quiet and he is underwhelming in the best kind of way. Looking at him—the way his narrow shoulders press together, the lazy and idle fall of his forelock—she thinks herself a fool for ever comparing his crimson markings to blood and believing his twining crown an indication of cruel nature. Her presumptuousness had indeed been just that: presumptuous. For the thousandth time in the last year she reminded herself that she must be humble, not vain; she must be willing to accept her errors, and judge not at a glance but only after thorough consideration.
She would not be a fool like her mother.
Her spirits, so often dark and dismal, lift in a façade of hope. Tentatively, almost nervously, she offers the stallion a smile—she lets her sadness and her loss bleed out from the curves of her mouth and the low slope of her shoulders, tucking away her formidable impartiality. Just like Själ, just like the others she knew to be out there... he, she was certain, felt the same way as she often did. And as she goes to reply, eager words forming on her lips, their strange meeting (with all the heated seduction of a tryst) they are interrupted.
Red eyes close as she exhales in annoyance.
The wolf turns her head tostare down look upon the pale stallion who wanders out from brush and trees. She recognizes him from her saunter along the World Edge; he is more worn-out and threadbare than she'd last seen him. Now he is thin, his presence leaving more of an echo than a tangible impact, his hips sharp and his flanks diminished. What happened? Curiosity aroused, she steps away from her charge, turning so that she might face the two of them.
Mauja. The white stallion's name is a delicate and malleable weaving of consonant and vowel; she wishes immediately that she might repeat it outloud but she holds her tongue. It was clear that they knew each other, and she did not want to leave a bad impression... even if the stallion might threaten her chance at a Hidden Falls recruit.
Instead she cocks a brow in sultry greeting, forming a loose introduction that does not invite a reply. "And I'm Nymeria."
She would not be a fool like her mother.
Her spirits, so often dark and dismal, lift in a façade of hope. Tentatively, almost nervously, she offers the stallion a smile—she lets her sadness and her loss bleed out from the curves of her mouth and the low slope of her shoulders, tucking away her formidable impartiality. Just like Själ, just like the others she knew to be out there... he, she was certain, felt the same way as she often did. And as she goes to reply, eager words forming on her lips, their strange meeting (with all the heated seduction of a tryst) they are interrupted.
Red eyes close as she exhales in annoyance.
The wolf turns her head to
Mauja. The white stallion's name is a delicate and malleable weaving of consonant and vowel; she wishes immediately that she might repeat it outloud but she holds her tongue. It was clear that they knew each other, and she did not want to leave a bad impression... even if the stallion might threaten her chance at a Hidden Falls recruit.
Instead she cocks a brow in sultry greeting, forming a loose introduction that does not invite a reply. "And I'm Nymeria."
Nymeria
table by neo ♥
Yes I lied, don't think about you all the time
All my switchblade words ain't aim to cut your sweet delusions
