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10-15-2016, 04:09 PM
[quote='Kianzo' pid='189782' dateline='1476553390']
image | bckg
@Bellisma
Kianzo
the prince of darkness is a perfect gentleman
“Good morning.”
The quiet, soft greeting (as soft as mother’s) wormed its way into the dark haze in which the foal slumbered. It was a gentle summon—and the mare was right in her internal assumptions. Awaking the darkling prince with a light call made for a much more amenable princeling.
Slowly, dark lids rise. Bleary, bright blues stare unseeing for a few moments—only overwhelming green imprinting on his vision. Their cave in the Basin wasn’t green. This time of year, none of the Basin was green. So his cloudy eyes blinked rapidly, small head slowly raising from his furry, Keusi pillow (who was also beginning to stir).
And then they landed on the copper face with green eyes, sharpening with focus, as the previous day came flooding into his still-sleepy consciousness. This coppery mare was still here, waking him with the quiet morning’s pale yellow light. She said she had watched him. She had spoken of ’manners’. Mother also spoke of manners. Often. And the dark prince had yet to find them—or to find the value in finding them.
But just-waking made the colt more pliable, more agreeable; it was before the dark whispers or stubborn voices had gained momentum in his youthful mind. So, uncurling slightly from his tightly shivering ball, he spoke in a voice that was thick with sleep, “There’s nothing ’good’ about it.” But there was no malice or venom in his words, despite their complaining nature.
Slowly, he stretched his slender onyx legs across the thick, dewy grasses, “Who’re you, anyway?” And then he yawned away the last cobwebs and remnants of sleep, milk teeth gleaming in the morning’s early light. The pastels of sunrise had faded from the lightly misted morning, but their gentle hues foretold of a bright and storm-less day. It’s unsure if the same could be said for the colt.
The quiet, soft greeting (as soft as mother’s) wormed its way into the dark haze in which the foal slumbered. It was a gentle summon—and the mare was right in her internal assumptions. Awaking the darkling prince with a light call made for a much more amenable princeling.
Slowly, dark lids rise. Bleary, bright blues stare unseeing for a few moments—only overwhelming green imprinting on his vision. Their cave in the Basin wasn’t green. This time of year, none of the Basin was green. So his cloudy eyes blinked rapidly, small head slowly raising from his furry, Keusi pillow (who was also beginning to stir).
And then they landed on the copper face with green eyes, sharpening with focus, as the previous day came flooding into his still-sleepy consciousness. This coppery mare was still here, waking him with the quiet morning’s pale yellow light. She said she had watched him. She had spoken of ’manners’. Mother also spoke of manners. Often. And the dark prince had yet to find them—or to find the value in finding them.
But just-waking made the colt more pliable, more agreeable; it was before the dark whispers or stubborn voices had gained momentum in his youthful mind. So, uncurling slightly from his tightly shivering ball, he spoke in a voice that was thick with sleep, “There’s nothing ’good’ about it.” But there was no malice or venom in his words, despite their complaining nature.
Slowly, he stretched his slender onyx legs across the thick, dewy grasses, “Who’re you, anyway?” And then he yawned away the last cobwebs and remnants of sleep, milk teeth gleaming in the morning’s early light. The pastels of sunrise had faded from the lightly misted morning, but their gentle hues foretold of a bright and storm-less day. It’s unsure if the same could be said for the colt.
@Bellisma
Please tag Kianzo in all replies.
