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11-12-2012, 06:36 PM
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S V E T L A N A The StormChaser I watch as the twins, for I'm sure they are twins despite their polar opposition in coat coloration, seem to bicker internally. And externally. Archibald and his dog comes, threatening words from the shire's mouth as he loyally sticks up for his brothers. The twins, meanwhile, bite each other. I don't like them. I really don't. I would rather send them packing with a few well-aimed kicks and a nice bite to the shoulder, or at least show them they were talking to the three leads of the Windtossed Foothills. Really, they shouldn't piss off all three leaders, and it wouldn't be too difficult to have me as an enemy with this black mood I'm in. Evers' always-good words are strong but not too sharp on my ears. I try to hold my mouth shut, for I think if I were to speak I would end up attacking these pegasi, but in the end I end up speaking. "If you wish to find a place to settle, I'm sure I can help you find a flight path for yourself." My words, though tart and sharp, are not inquiring. I just want them gone, gone, gone. They remind me of Basjoll and his gang, a bunch of bastards who had been intent on raping me. 'Pretty lady!" they had called me, Basjoll's rough voice on my ears, always attempting to seduce me. In the end, I had been forced to nearly kill the bastard to keep him off my hind end, and since then, I had never liked drafts that much. Or, perhaps better worded, I was more distrustful of them, except for Archibald. Archibald was the exception- he was devoted to his brother, and Evers seemed to care for him like, well, a brother, so I would trust him with my own life, as Evers does. Evers is not without his sharp wits. You sound like a wardog, Svetlana. Now, pay attention. walk walk walk "talk talk talk"  |
