| World's Edge Nurse |
| Mare :: Equine :: 17.1 :: 9 |
| Adoptable |
02-11-2013, 10:22 PM
(This post was last modified: 02-18-2013, 11:01 AM by Tor.)
Today the sky is bleeding red, and the sun is a crown on a king's head. The king wears a mantle of crimson; his wolf-fur trim is the spangling of glittering white stars rising swift, and his silver ring is the crescent moon rising swift into the sky above. Yet a servant spilled purple wine over the cloak, and it bleeds upward swiftly, indigo blending into rich ruby. Of course he threw a fit, but his harsh words do not save the velvet cape and so he despairs on his blue throne, for the throne goes down with him, slowly turning the black of night. The king's scepter is falls out of sight behind the blackened throne, that is the white line of the horizon; and so that is how it went.
However, the alabastar mare was putting her filly and colt to bed in the spring grass sweet far before the king's cape died it's brilliant death; early enough the sky was turning pink, but late enough the first star was visible, and the world seemed to be painted of pastels. They had been borne in the sunset of the night only one or two days ago; and had breathed and experienced so much since. Golden pollen drifting through the pale blue skies, whispering dandelions shedding little silver hands, the shrill chirps and sweet songs of the birds dressed in all colors imaginable and beyond.
Tor's coat glows in the dimming light, in cream and snow white; she is garbed in snow that her children have not seen and will not see for hopefully a while yet. Her eyes are the warm brown of the earth, a sight hidden until autumn when the rich green grass withers and dies under the coolness of the night; but the worries of winter and cold seasons are far from her mind. No, instead the milk-white mare's thoughts revolve around tending her children and letting them grow, with the just the right amount of words to hold them back yet let them blossom into the mature creatures they will become, certainly.
Tor is proud of her children. They had stood up so quick, despite the extra-long legs they boasted. One day they would be very tall warriors, indeed! Or diplomats. Maybe healers. She hoped one of the two would take after her, but they were free of pressure to choose whatever path they wished to travel on.
"Children," The dam says, stirring from her thoughts. She calls the children softly to her flank. "It is time for you to rest. Would you like me to tell you a story?"
TOR
Without each other, we are all lost- so keep yourself together, and stay with me
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WORDS OF COMPASSION ARE STRONGER THAN ANY ACT OF POWER.
"One Day, I Shall Live By the Code of Honor."
This walking thing was harder that it looked.
Laila still hadn’t quite gotten the hang of it yet; her legs flopped haphazardly to and fro, flailing comically in an effort to express proper locomotion. Even when she was focusing her hardest, Laila found that her limbs were inclined to wobble and twitch in wayward directions as she walked; very soon she stopped caring about the neatness of her walking, being content in the mere fact that she could keep up reasonably well with her older brother and her regal parents, leaping along behind them, following their trail and observing the world around her with still-wide eyes. There was so much to do and still too much to see, and after the alarming introduction a few days ago, Laila learned to take the world in stride and enjoy everything that came her way—be it the buzzing of the tiny armored insects, the brittle scent of the heat-dried salty wind that wafted from the nearby ocean, or the presence of her family, their warmness and their love embracing her, comforting her, and giving her cause for happiness.
Now it was getting late, and Laila’s excited gusto for learning and observing was beginning to wane; her legs wobbled so much more violently, and when her milky mother called to them and guided them to bed, Laila touched (or rather bumped into) her mother in welcoming affection, then unceremoniously flopped onto a soft bed of grass, folding her longish limbs underneath her with practiced ease and looking up at her mama expectantly. She whipped her head here and there for a second, looking for her brother Luken; her breath hitched in her throat as he searched for him, a familiar fear of separation overcoming her. It was a hurtle she would jump later in life, a tether she would sever when the time properly came—but for now, she was still to fresh and innocent to undo that lesson, and she wanted her Lu-Lu to lie down with her and their mother, listening to the soft, chocolate tones that emanated from her pearlescent lips.
“Would you like me to tell you a story?"
“A stowy?!” Laila asked, her tiny voice booming loudly in a near-shout—the poor dear still hadn’t really gotten the hang of proper vocal volume, “What kinda stowy, Mama?!” She snuggled in her soft spot of grass, snuggling down securely and gazing up at her mother with her sparkling chocolate eyes, reflecting her curiosity and eagerness in learning another aspect of this strange, fascinating world.
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| Hidden Account atk: 4 | def: 7 | dam: 7 |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 17.0 :: Three Years [Tallsun Born] HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE |
| Sparrow |
Even though he was only a few days old, Luken knew a few certainties already in his young age. One was that life was full of adventures and new things at every turn. He could wander around for hours at a time, all while discovering new things… And then the next day, while examining that very same spot, he’d come across all kinds of new things that he had missed the day prior. His mind soaked in and absorbed nearly everything that his deep, chocolate orbs could take in, watching and learning, the smooth tuft of his tail flicking to and fro as he watched the world pass around him. It was all so much, so intriguing, and the young colt couldn’t help but try and understand, try and experience it all…
The second was that his sister’s presence would always be a constant thing. He and Laila had spent all of their already short lives together, and the young draft mutt hoped that it would never change. She was with him nearly every step, every day, following in his bolder footsteps. They had a bond between them, something special and sacred that no other could understand. Possibly, if they had a twin, but… That was beside the point.
Third, Luken had learned that their mother meant comfort and food, and their father meant strong protection and love. Tor’s soothing words had already ingrained themselves in the colt’s stubborn noggin, her soft, melodic syllables helping him calm down whenever he was too riled for bedtime. Much like he was now.
Luken and his beloved twin had spent their day exploring the world around them, or the Edge, as their parents had called it. The Edge was their home, and there were all new sights and smells to take in every step of the way during their exploration. The two never strayed far from their mother’s side, however, still too fearful to wander off on their own quite yet.
Those inquisitive, chocolate depths watched as Laila returned to their mother’s side as they were called, and the stubborn colt gave a playful shake of his head, pushing himself up onto his rear haunches and pawing at the air with his forehooves. It was an ungainly move, that rear, one that would become more graceful as he grew older… But for now, it was all in good nature, and so Luken truly didn’t care about beauty. He was about to dart off to continue his games when the mention of a ‘story’ crossed his ears, and he paused.
He wanted a story, too.
Giving a slight snort, the mostly white colt returned to his mother’s side and settled down beside his sister, pushing his muzzle into Laila’s warm side for comfort. His breath escaped from his nostrils and caressed her darker hide, but his gaze travelled up and leveled upon their mother. Would she tell them a story? Oh, he hoped so… For their mother’s stories were simply the best! Or their father’s... But Luken had a distinct impression that Tor wouldn’t allow Destrier to tell them stories of epic battles.
“Pwease, Mama?” Luken asked softly, finally lifting his nose from its warm place at Laila’s side, “Can we? Can we has a stowy of Papa’s fwights?”
LUKEN
One Day, I Shall Walk the Path of the Righteous
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| World's Edge Nurse |
| Mare :: Equine :: 17.1 :: 9 |
| Adoptable |
Sometimes I feel like my heart just might explode- why? I love my foals so much, and Destrier, and the love swells in my chest with pride until I feel I can hardly contain it. I watch in silent laughter as Luken charges off, rearing, long gangly fores wild in the air, an ungainly but cute rear. Laila is the calmer of the two, more tentative, I think; Luken is always ready for excitement, excited to become a warrior one day, and Laila is ready for simple exploration and enjoyment. At least that's what I think. My son will become a warrior, and maybe my daughter, but I feel it is more likely for her to become a diplomat or healer of sorts. Wherever she wants to go, however, I will support her. I see no need in forcing my children around as some might, or forcing them to follow my hoof prints, because they will get no enjoyment from it.
Even as Luken plays fitfully in the red light of the sunset, I feel Laila's soft muzzle against my legs, before she flopped unceremoniously on the ground. I chuckle gently, lowering my head to exhale on her forelock, nibbling at it, before looking a touch more sternly at my son. But he comes running back at the mention of a story, asking for a story about Destrier fighting, and I shake my head slowly. "This is a story about the forest fairies and the strange things they do. This is how the unicorns and pegasi came together."
I glance downwards, not wanting to have Laila hear a story about bloodshed and battles. Or Luken, for that matter, despite his clear want to become a protector, a fighter of this realm. For a moment, I fall silent, collecting the words in my mind and ordering them carefully in chronological order. This had been the story I had first heard as a child, even though we lived in the arctic tundra. I don't know why. I clear my throat, swish my tail, and begin- "There was once a forest named Ardun in a place very far away. It was a huge forest, dark and wild, exotic and filled with flowers that glowed in the moonlight; and fairies. Fairies are creatures, normally winged, that look like butterflies, except they look like glass filled with sparkling lights." I never knew why mom explained them to me like that. It was a bizarre description, admittedly.
"The fairies were small and strange and filled with magic. They grew the huge forest from solid stone that gave way to plant and grass. They cared for the inhabitants and made sure most of them were safe. Rabbits they gave big, strong hind legs in order to run away. Dogs and wolves got big teeth to catch their food. Birds had wings to soar away. But horses, they decided, didn't look magical enough. We weren't cute or beautiful enough for them, so they decided to get together.
'Let's give them wings,' declared the fairy of the birds. The others shook their heads.
'Let's give them long legs to run away!' yelled the fairy of deer. The others shook their heads.
'Let's give them fangs!' cried out the fairy of wolves. The others shook their heads, grossed out.
'Let's give them horns!' hollered the fairy of stags and rams.
For many hours they argued, the horses watching on in despair. Finally, one horse stepped forward and offered a compromise. 'Give some of us the horns, some of us the wings, and give all of us the long legs.' But the fairy of wolves was insulted they didn't want him gift.
So the fairy growled, 'If you take all my gifts but mine, my predators will hunt you forevermore.'
But the horses and fairies accepted the deal, and so we all got long legs, and a few of us horns, and even fewer the wings." I smiled at them, watching the sun nearly go down. If they wanted, they could ask for another story, but it was nearing night now.
TOR
Without each other, we are all lost- so keep yourself together, and stay with me
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WORDS OF COMPASSION ARE STRONGER THAN ANY ACT OF POWER.
"One Day, I Shall Live By the Code of Honor."
Laila looked up at her mother, that alabaster lady of loving warmth, as she recited an origin tale; a tale that intended for the world to make more sense for the little one’s mind. It described how the unicorns and the pegasi came to aquire the wings of a bird and the horns of the goat-creatures, but Laila still had questions in her mind. “Mama, why did vey haff to argyoo?!” she asked, the words bumbled somewhat as they flew passed her milk teeth, “Why coldn’t we haff ALL de things?!” She cocked her head, her eyes wide and innocent as they glowed in the twilit night. She scooted closer to her brother as the heat of the day began to wane and a certain, slight chill began to settle on the land. The adults wouldn’t feel it much; but to a little newborn foal, with brittle, tender legs and thin, downy fur, the lack of heat could be felt more acutely and it could get cold really fast. She welcomed the warmth of her brother and his presence; for whatever reason, the blackness of the night frightened her, even as the sounds of the night creatures intrigued her, excited her; imbued in her the desire to explore.
“Mama,” she started again, another thought coming across her mind, “Is tha’ wha Papa does? Why he fights? To get ridda the bad woolfses!?” She knew her father was a warrior; that was a fact that was not hidden from her, as she strove to observe the world around her. He was a fighter, the Protector, as she sometimes heard him called; the pride in his visage was stamped into her memory, a permanent mark on her psyche that molded and influenced her desires. She imagined him, tall and powerful, kind-faced and comforting in his words and deep voice. She admired the way the light played on his black pelt, which defined his muscles in the radiant sunlight and underlined the raw strength he emanated.
What a contrast it was to her mother! But it wasn’t a condemnable comparison; on the contrary, Laila idolized her mother as well. Mama was tall and beautiful, a graceful being who moved with a sureness that Laila had yet to master, such was the clumsiness with which she flailed her tiny hooves with every step she took. Mama didn’t seem strong as Papa in body, but she seemed mighty in mind; her words washed over Laila like a clear mountain spring, guiding the tiny tot, admonishing her, comforting her, telling her words of love, beguiling the young thing to admire her voice and the charm she spoke with. Instructing her in the ways of the world, often with stories such as these.
“Mama, are there any woolfs around heeyr?” Another idea came to Laila suddenly, and she excitedly spewed forth,”Di’yoo ever seended a woolf?!” She wiggled a little in her sleeping spot, looking up eagerly at her mother; had she ever seen one of those monsters of the night? How did she get away? Oh, what a bedtime story that would make!
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