G h a y t hRain. It descends from the starry heavens in a glorious downpour, quenching his dry coat with cool, refreshing beads of water. Dirt and sand stream off his dark fur in sooty rivulets - a much needed bath, indeed.
Water clings to his forelock, causing it to clump together as it hangs like black vines around his electric eyes. His mane sticks to his nape in damp black strands and he tips his muzzle to the heavens. He has always held a fascination for the rain, how it cascades down from seemingly nowhere at all, as if the ocean has suddenly flipped upside down and the water gently drips from the crests of its waves. He breathes in the humid air, his nostrils distending as his lungs inflate. The desert is a familiar place to the stallion. He moves easily across the sand, used to the way it shifts and squelches beneath his hooves.
He moves toward a large wall in the distance, the bronze glowing dimly in what minimal light manages to nudge past the thicket of clouds obscuring that which radiates from the crescent moon. He comes to a stop once he reaches its base, curiously studying the etchings which mark it length, wondering what each might mean or if they have any meaning at all.
He suspects, by the scents lingering in the wind, that his presence is already known and therefore makes no effort to announce his arrival. Quietly, and patiently, he waits, not particularly expectant but hopeful none the less. |
Midas the Gallant Posts: 1,164
| Deceased |
| Stallion :: Pegasus :: 14.3 hh :: Immortal :: Soul is 7 (FF) Buff: HUNTER |
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Fina :: Common Zephyr :: Phoenix & Wakiya
& Neve :: Common Zephyr :: Arctic
Angel |
Midas
the one to see you through your darkest times
Night descends and for some warriors it isn’t the end of a day, but the beginning. Tonight was going to be especially drudge; afternoon showers had turned into evening showers, which had turned into midnight showers—and I should mention that it was showing no sign of letting up. Squishing through the soft red sand I was grateful for the quiet at least, I took it as an omen that tonight would be a fair patrol. Cera, and our companions where all back home; dryer than me and resting peacefully beneath the shadows of the old magnolia tree.
Water slicks my hide, it is chilling to the touch—and I’ve learned that no amount of running would lessen its effect. So I walk. Watching along the wall for hints of trouble; though I expected to find none. Trouble seemed less inclined to be around when the skies cried their eyes out. Rain muffles my senses and water drips from my lashes, but this isn’t enough to mask a stranger who is lingering just behind the boarder.
Slugging along I approach cautiously, pools taking in his features and finding no semblance of recognition. His faint essence is plucked from the breeze, and even though it is weak; and sort of earthy smelling—I gather that he isn’t a brother to this family. Smiling all the same I call out through the misty weather that separates us, “State your business friend,” the order is simple, direct, but it has my trademarked kind notes all the same. |
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 ![[Image: 5388c9b80fe59]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/5388c9b80fe59)
Kri the Resolute Posts: 243
| Hidden Account |
| Mare :: Pegasus :: 14.3hh :: 10 Buff: NUMB |
| Boom Boom! |
06-20-2013, 04:09 PM
(This post was last modified: 06-20-2013, 04:10 PM by Kri.)
I MADE A THRONE FOR HOPE TO SIT.</style>
I hate the rain.
Memories of the rain, for me, are not entirely great. For one, there was the cataclysmic storm of Isilme which began with water falling from the sky and ended with red boulders of my former home. I still remember the massive storm clouds and waves of power which sent the Cliffs toppling. Then, even here in Helovia, I have had a run in with a bad mess of storms. One such rainy day, not long after Leander the Loser had tried to whisk away herdmates from under my nose, Svetlana the Idiot fell from a raincloud challenging me for my position.
Deep seated in my heart, I had a deep hatred for rainstorms. They may cool the heat of the desert, but they spurn a new one in my chest. Even now, if the annoyance of my spirit could be reflected physically, I would evaporate the drops that dare to cling to my wings - the final annoyance.
Like useless, sogging rags my chocolate wings rest on my back, which is also damp underneath. A disgruntled face is what greets my General and some unknown character, who I look at with less than enthused, dark eyes. My gaze rolls over to the tobiano, ears catching his words over the falling nuisance. "Hello, Midas," I say, my voice dry but civil, turning my look back toward the darker colored stallion. "And company."
Well, no one ever said that I had to be welcoming or nice.
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image by mandj98 @ flickr.com
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