Branches snagged at my feathers as I plodded through the forest of the land I had once inhabited many seasons ago. A snort pushed its way through my muzzle and I tossed my head, flicking my mane and forelock back briefly so that I could get a good look at what was around me. The ground crunched with my footsteps, the ground heavily frost laden in the early morning light. It was different in this light, and the scent of the land had changed. Stale scents of new horses that had passed through here before, coating the trees with their individual smells. I snorted again and scanned the area around, wondering briefly how I would be taken in this time now that I had returned from my journey to the outside of Helovia.
I sighed lightly, resettling my wings on my back and stamping the ground lightly. A twig snapped beneath my hoof and I lowered my head slightly to look closely at the splintered wood, lifting my hoof and stepping to the side lightly. I dared not enter the land without an escort, even if I had been here before. For all I knew the Gods could have changed the land, or there could be war waging on the inside.
I looked up at the overcast weather that frostfall had brought with it this dreary day. It should have been a good day, I had returned to the place I called home, but with this drab weather it was hard to feel any joy. With a huff I shook myself again, glad for my winter coat to keep me warm in the cold weather as my breath fogged in front of my face. A squirrel caught my eye and I turned slightly to look at it before focusing back on the ground and taking a few steps to the very threshold of the forest and the ground on the other side. Yet still I didn't take that step into the land of Helovia. I would wait for someone to meet me, perhaps the horses of the Throat still wondered where I had gone, or would some new group come and meet me?
Briefly the thought of Kri flickered through my mind, what had happened to my old friend? I tossed the thought to the side though and stamped the ground again, using the movement to help warm myself up a bit more. There was always someone wandering the woods of the Threshold, perhaps someone would stumble upon me soon enough. After all, my scent seemed to be one of the newer ones in the woods.
| Outcast atk: 7 | def: 9.5 | dam: 3.5 |
| Stallion :: Hybrid :: 18.3hh :: 7 Years HP: 63 | Buff: ENDURE |
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Veci :: Plain Boggart :: Suffocate
Dream |
Hector
The day was young and the air was crisp. Hector was carrying on with his duties, happy to have something to do instead of sitting idle in his home, awaiting Kri's next instruction of the General Tournament. He smiled as the image of Gaucho entered his mind, he hoped that if he did not gain the title, that the caveman did instead. Never before had the hybrid been in such an intense fight, even taking on Kri was not as wild as that fight had been. Hector would remember it forever and would take on board everything he had learnt that day to make himself into a better warrior. Scars littered his body and the orange stud could still feel some of the bruises that the bay had inflicted upon him. A shoulder sporting a rather angry gash and his chest still stung if he sneezed or coughed. Battle wounds. Fitting for one who sought the rank of General.
Lowering himself to the ground, Hector landed soundly on the frosty floor of the Threshold, Veci floating down beside him and the pair began to stroll through the slowly awakening woodland. Scents surrounding him, old and new, unicorns from the north and horses from the west. Outcasts and herd mates alike. Each presence lingered for a while, but all were to be ignored apart from the newer scent, one he had not smelt before. The closer he got to the border between Helovia and the unknown lands, the form of a pegasus began to take shape and Hector smiled jovially at his luck. Picking his pace up to a swift bouncy trot until finally he was in talking range of the fading strawberry stallion, lighting coming to a halt and proffering his head politely.
"Hello Sir. May I be of use? My name is Hector and I come from the Dragons Throat herd" he said quite proudly, unaware that this pegasus had been here before and been apart of his very herd before the orange boy had even joined. Blissfully ignorant, he gazed over the male who was not much older than himself, noting the exotic features that titled him an Arabian. Like Daenerys had been. His heart tugged at her image, a perfect blend of snow and aureate, with eyes like fields of thistles. In a night she had stolen his naive young heart and he had missed her everyday after, still unknowing to the two children she had bore with his name as sire. For now, he gazed politely at the stranger before him, trying not to think of beautiful pearly mane and the lapping of the gentle sea.
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image credits
 
• Dragon's Throat Rank Experience: Fortify | Level 3
• Permission given for moderate power play, magical influence and damage at all times
Mauja the Frozen Light Posts: 1,392
| Outcast atk: 6.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 7.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17.2 :: 14 HP: 79.5 | Buff: HUNTER |
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Irma :: Snowy Owl :: Terrorize
& Diego :: Eurasian Eagle-Owl :: Rage
Neo |
Among the bare branches of the trees sat someone who listened, keen eyes and ears letting no thing go unnoticed; her head turned, shifted ever so slightly, to better catch what was said, and better see who said it. The owl seldom blinked, her gaze pale as the northern ice itself, merely sat there, feeding someone else little tidbits of information – and some part of that other soul felt a sense of disappointment at having been bested in reaching this one. He'd haunted the forest for a few days, ignoring his instincts and following every trail of pegasus feather in trying to build a shaking confidence to someone he would, perhaps, svíkja. Briefly he thought of Roland, wished he had the golden stallion's experience, but what was the point in wishing for someone who was miles away?
Irma said, you do not know him, and Mauja moved again, his long legs carrying him towards the pair again before even all words were out of Hector's mouth. His blue eyes were the same shade of the owl, but where hers were dispassionate and cold, his were warm, twinkling with some mischief – as if the world amused him, but he could not tell why, only that it did. And in truth, it was not him so much as the persona he had adopted, the name and the story that went it, charming and brash and cautious all at once, someone whose past had gone wrong and whose future would be worse.
When the leafless trees cleared, and he saw the pair, his eyes were not at all drawn to the newcomer, but rather to Hector. Where the newcomer was short and rather plain, the chestnut stallion was taller than anyone Mauja had met in a good while, slender but packed with muscle, two horns upon his face and two wings upon his back. Dirty blood he thought by reflex, but not a ripple passed over his face as he hoofed his way over to them, his intense eyes fixed upon the taller. Mauja was by no means short himself, rather he was used to towering above most others he met, and he had a feeling Dreven was much the same way.
And so, he introduced himself with a wry grin, his tail stirring against his hocks as he settled at a respectable distance from them, and said: "You, sir, are very tall." His grin grew a fraction wider, a curling of his black lips, and he hoped the chestnut stranger would not know him – would not know his name and his face, and be able to call his bluff. So when his little playful, teased greeting of his (how the thought was weird to him) herd-mate was over with, he dipped his head at the newcomer. "Dreven, of the same herd."
And how can you say that your truth is better than ours?
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angels, they fell first, but I'm still here
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