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Post by .cay on Jul 30, 2011 2:46:13 GMT -7
I was lost, Now I'm found I'm sustained by the sound Of the angels singing me to sleep As my feet are leaving the ground
Am I dead, Or am I dreaming it's dead A cornicopea of Opiates are flooding my head
I'm insane I am smart All it takes is a spark To ignite my bad intentions And do what I do best to your heart
Don't be fooled I was raised by the WOLVES
Desolate. Screaming in agonizing torture and infinite pain. Crying for eternity in acric tears of crimson blood.
Trees are skeletons shining white and gaunt in midnights cruel grasp. Neither flora nor fauna haunts bloodstained and reeking grounds where darkness pervades ubiquitous. The moon ghosts intimidating across the navy heavens, making even the clouds retreat from their normally ill-fated filmstrip. Only a few stars flicker in the pitch black. Even so, the ones who bravely peek out shine almost unnoticeably, as if they are afraid of the demons that walk the ground beneath their long and shining reach.
The moon hangs on inky felt; a sliver of its full humbling grace. It seems to point in a sneer to the lands below, greedy in the lusts and sins of the creatures who walked the solid terre. Pockmarked and grisly, the extraterrestrial body seemed sickly, yellowing everything to which its light was cast upon. If it had fingers, no doubt they would be slithering across all earth and swathing every living being in illness. For the moon was a devastated soul, sent by the Gods to forever seek penance in the demons hours on the watch hands. It had nothing but regrets, vengence, guilt. Reproach, and sin personified.
Muddy soil rose from the depths of the earth like grime, thick and discoloured. The recent rainfall had saturated the once bone dry land and turned every speck of dust into writhing, pentrating ooze that clung to the paws and hooves of all who tread upon it like quicksand; sucking limbs and bodies down into its heart like some malformed and lethal creature from prehistoric times. Carcasses from unfortunate earlier travellers littered the uninterpretable road like fallen leaves. Their rotting stench emanated for miles into both the nares and soul of willing trespassers.
Shrieking. Wailing for mercy and respite from unimaginable horrors. Withering away to nothing in sadistic pleasures.
In the land rose a terrible and great formation: A body of stone that twisted and groaned from the bowels of the earth and which bore more equine and lupine tragedy than any horror or fairy tale combined. Its long and infinite passageways carried screams and gut wrenching, gutteral pleas for life (or the ending of it) for miles, through the intertwined and winding passages and out into the skies for any mortal to hear and recoil. The face of the enterance was stained with blood red paint; it almost looked like art. The thickly plastered crimson was shiny and patterened, even though it had long since dried and bedded with the elements. Each layer told a different story, of a different time, different tale, different conquest.
The stones which rose in an arc to provide entry looked beaten and worn; they were no longer shiny or square, but rugged and ovaline. They lay together like old lovers, supporting each partner til the bitter end. Upon close inspection, they held firm, and proved to be stronger than brick. Appearances have always been decieving. Small critters lay sheltered in the crevices created by time, nestled in the cracks like morning dew in grass when the sun is not yet risen. Small, shining eyes glare out from the ancient depths, frightfully, daring, dissociative. When provoked they would either retreat into the inky black depths and never again be found, or savagely attack the poor bumbling soul who disturbed them.
As you peer into the well of despair, you are able to see almost nothing. It is like looking into the throat of a monster, hoping to see the contents of its bowels before entreating to adventure into them. The pitch darkness which radiated forth from the tunnel seemed to say to the casual observer; Not everything in life can be analyzed and planned out. Sometimes rational thinking has to be lain aside for quick wit and courage. Unbeknownst to said observer, the catacombs were neverending. Laid out by Gods in Blue Moon's birthing blueprint, they snaked under every terrace and land without hesitancy. One could literally walk in, lose track of where they were, and die, ten feet under the first tunnel which led them into the forsaken place. They not only tracked under every single land, they tracked under themselves. There were at least ten layers of them; or that is as many as living mortals were able to discover before perishing to old age.
Dark creatures, as is their way, often perused these winding death traps in hopes of obtaining a poor lost soul. Such was it, that the population gave it a vulgar nickname of Slave Tunnels. However, they were named by the angels and demons who created them as The Catacombs. Even the name sent shivers down ones spine, dark and horrifying before even experiencing them. Mares who found themselves here were rewarded with death or worse: A forcer or a slaver-- or both. Usually it was both.
In the slowly brightening light, a lone foal trotted into dawn. This foal was not a meandering little filla of light, lost from her loving parents warm embrace and seeking out only affection and retrieval. No, he was the sole heir of the Lead Forcer, Fornever Ending, also known as Storm. Storm's son was a strong and intimidating figure, even at only seven months of age. His large frame spoke loudly of his Thoroughbred and Arabian bloodlines, and every bone in his well-built form seemed already to be vastly expanding. This colt was already an impressive and handsome sight; as one would only guess he would be if his parents were a champion Thoroughbred, Lead Forcer and already strikingly charming and gorgeous father, and a trophy Arabian, thin boned and gorgeously painted and sightly mother. His aquatic lanterns were large and wide, scanning the land before him as he easily scampered through the thick mud. His long legs were perfect for traversing the unfamiliar and unstable terrain. His gold and white tail was held high, dramatically revealing the Arabian bloodlines in him. His hide, however, was hyperindicative of his sire; shiny, clipped, and darker than even Gorgio's hellfury optics. It shone even in the twilight, already stripped of his baby pelt.
Even though there seemed only one purpose for the hallowed grounds before him, Fornever Ending's son was not here for a slave, or a mare (or more appropriately, filla) to break and keep. For, he was not old enough to force, though that course of action did not seem to ever be present in his mind. For his father was Lead Forcer, and he himself was the by product of a force. Though, for some reason, his father seemed to love both him and his twin, Deserted Under Fire, and, suprisingly, their mother. Even though she herself was the first mare he had ever forced and brought home to his lands. For some reason this beautiful little, almost anorexic and beaten mare, horribly named Unwanted, broke through Fornever Ending's thick outer layer and into the first little scrap of a heart he always said he never had.
Storm's son, and his named was Never Endng Lust, was not looking to be here specifically, but out and away from his home and parents because he was on a quest. He was determined and bound to find that one mare who would like Lurev, and want to be protected by the young colt. Lurev wanted to protect her, and be liked by her. Of course, the colt had no idea what this meant yet, what it meant was a mate, and offspring, and quite possibly love. However, he was just set out to find this one mare he could bring home to Storm and Unwanted, and of course his little twin sister, Serre, and show them that he had found her, and protected her. Lurev wanted them to be proud.
Now, he was a Forcers son, and perhaps this insignifcant quest made him out to be, well, a little pansyish for such a dark lords offspring. But, don't misjudge him. He can be cold, cruel, calculating, but for now Lurev was just a colt. Just a young little lad out in search of a mate and possibly the love of his life, if he was lucky. All types of horses (and wolves alike) deserve such blessings from whatever God they hail to. Perhaps in the eyes of the young buck, love was unhindered by alliances, or blood relations, or family ties. By rules, by lines, by tricks and ideas beaten into horses from birth. So many things obstruct from this simple little quest, that all should embark on. But no one seems to notice.
As Lurev sprang smartly over and through the thick and disgusting terrain, his mind was devoid of thought. He was thought out, as only a child could be. He had gone months without any companionship, and he drearily missed his sister, and his mother, and even his stern but warm father. Perhaps he didn't know it, but Storm was only ever that way to his children. Besides, Lurev had already thought and over-thought everything a little foal could possibly think of. His mind was worn and steamed out. No fresh ideas leapt into consciousness, and frankly, he was quite glad of it. When his only need and desire was to navigate across the lands he was exploring, he was much less likely to let his clumsiness get to him, and suffered less injuries as he did before, mind full and clashing with energetic thoughts and ideas. Now, he was clear and free. Devoid of anything. Devoid...
Reaching a drier patch of gravel and stone, thankfully, Lurev halted for a moment. His tiny sides heaved with exhaustion and he slumped against the ground gratefully, a small pile of legs and fur. For, he was mostly just legs. Growing into both and Arabian and Thoroughbreds skillful and long legs would take a long time. For now, he was just gangly. And, of course, clumsy as hell. The midnight son yawned, showing a vast array of short, flat teeth. Staring around him mutely and gravely, the Arabred wistfully noticed no grass for grazing.
Starting early on grass and almost never obtaining milk from his mother certainly put a setback in his growth. He would still grow to a huge size like his father, but it would take time. Much more than a normal colt. Perhaps even a whole season more. He was not short for his age, but he was very gaunt. Grinning a bit, Lurev supposed he must look a bit like his mother. Gaunt.
Even that small thought sent Never Ending Lust into a painful memory of his family. Of small little Deserted Under Fire, who loved him so, and whom he had grown beside even from conception. Through thick and thin, through everything that his father had put his mother through, and that she herself had put her own self through. He wistfully recalled her shining raven pelt, so much like his, fuzzy with foals fur. It had been almost seven months since he had seen her, heard her sweet voice. Though, thinking back, Lurev could not recall much of Serre. Or, in fact, of his mother.
His father, however, was a different story. The small but striking speech his father had made had stuck with him every day. Every night. Every waking and unconscious moment. It haunted him. It was the reason he abandoned his family, to come search for his mare to protect, to be liked by. He knew, reproachully, that in the end it would be worth it. To return to their love with this glowing partner to show them. To protect. To be with aways. To make his family proud. Yes, in the end of course it would be worth it.
Why wouldn't it?
Raising crystal blue optics, Lurev watched the sky as it started to turn a pale, salmon pink. It touched just above the mountains to spread quickly across the sky, like when one dips a napkin into juice and the colour bleeds across the fabric faster than a heartbeat. Soon, other colours joined it. Slowly, cautiously, then, like a symphony, every colour in the spectrum dashed across the sky, creating an orchestra of light. Lurev was entranced. Whenever he had the chance to, the colt stayed up to watch the sun fall and fade away from the heavens, or watch the moon sadly disapparate from the star ridden blanket which covered the space from mortal inspection. He was unsure as to why he loved it, but he just did. It was something to do with the perfection of the movement and harmony of the colours, which never failed to leave him speechless.
Exhausted, the raven colt drifted off to a light sleep just as the sun peeked over the waiting horizen. It warmed his body in soft caresses, promising a long and hot day to ease the hurts and chill of the night. He slept with a soft smile, already dreaming that the rays of light which twined about his small frame was in fact Serre, his twin. Curling up in on himself, the boy soothed himself in dreams, balming with fantasy the harshness of reality.
word count 2,214 / character count 12,612 muse raised by wolves par falling in reverse
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Post by Racing on Jul 30, 2011 22:52:10 GMT -7
A wasteland, one filled with regrets and blood, of life and death. The moon rested in the sky as if reclining on a cashmere blanket of blue. Such a blue it almost seems black, yet under scrutiny and a being's simple sense, the color is lightening. Slowly but surely, like one who is reluctant to leave a warm bed, but must to get to a job or elsewhere important. Even though dawn is approaching, it is a hesitant skulk, not a boastful flourish. So the moon reigns with an iron fist, casting a infirm glow over the abysmal land. In it's full glory the lunar being would be perfectly white in a glow of undiscovered territory. Those that stalked this dismal area had a sort of worship for the moon-- it was a Goddess in it's own right, after all-- and none could fail to admire the moon. Even when it seemed like it's tainted rays would cause an irreparable sickness, those chained to the bedamned earth never stopped loving their night goddess.
The muck sucked under a horse's hooves, and pulled at a wolf's fur. If muck was an appropriate term, considering that all types of soil seemed mixed here, as if exotic beings had carried bits of their own forsaken lands, and left said particles to cause a blending of cultures and differences. Such a blending was a wonderful thing, but not when these creatures had no way to reciprocate it. Usually they that entered the Blue Moon lands never left it. Yet the murky, quicksand-like substance that those that treaded this land were forced to walk upon, did have one upside-- it had dry, gravelly patches of dirt that one might rest on before continuing on. Usually the gunk was contained to certain spots in the flooring, but after a recent storm? A storm in which you could see the rain as clearly as one-way glass, sweeping at you with the ferocity of a charging bull. A torrent of rain that was not odd for this time of year-- summer storms are a part of life, but this storm was particularly strong and so the once hard-packed, dusty ground was covered in inches of newly created slime.
Such grime was a hamper to a flaming shape as it struggled in the muck. A single hoof had gotten stuck in a deep hole, caused by a huge hoof. Said hoof had unearthed a small rodent's nest, hopefully long deserted at this point, and it was in that that the filly's little hoof was trapped. Royale Heir Empty Thy Mind screeched an indignant cry at the moon, before glaring around at the horizon for one to help her. Usually the stubborn lass would refuse help, and get out of it her own way, but she'd been stuck for a half a day now, and was tired of it. As she glared around, the sky had steadily finished lightening and was a soft blue, a periwinkle if you would. Then with a fiery burst over the earth, the sun peeked over the horizon. As if, it were a child playing hide and seek. Or maybe a dead being worming it's way out of it's burial place-- all's burial place, the earth, the underground. Six feet under.
Oh, how Thyme loved that saying. 'Six feet under'. Perhaps that would be her first daughter's name. One daughter would have that name, at least. The heiress planned on being quite a babymaker, as it was what she knew. She grew up in that mindset, that world and it wasn't likely to change. To any passing stallion, even, just so long as he didn't try to enslave her. But she would mind-game them. Not the other way around, never. She would be a temporary and independent concubine of sorts, but only if she got to play with her boy-toys first. Thyme wanted a mate, yes, certainly completely and fully, but she felt it would take a long while. And if she died here, her plans would fail. Her revolution, her empire, would fail. This would not do!
With this the chestnut's struggles resumed, and in just a matter of minutes working the right angle, her white-to-the-hocks hind leg popped free. With a joyful whinny the youngling pranced away from the entrapment, a fiery being in a sky warmed with pink. Warm tones washed over the lands, the moon and the few stars disappearing with a last twinkle. The sun, a hazy ball of fire and gas over the east, was quickly rising. And all too soon, the sun was up and the world around her seemed to close, yet open at the same time. While some things closed shop when day broke, for others, life was just beginning. A joyous cycle of nocturnal and diurnal. Life was always at it's finest at these points-- when dawn broke and when night rose.
Thyme stretched her long limbs and her neck, her coat muddy and icky. She did not enjoy getting grimy, while she usually preferred being clean like most ladies do. But she still pranced off, incredibly happy to be free. Off in the distance, she saw a form. A dark form, lying on the floor. Was it dead? She thought so. But it was on one of the only dry patches of land, so she would go to it and push it into the muck and if it wasn't dead? Let it die stuck in the muck while Thyme got clean. With that thought she dashed with a grace unusual to a 6 month old, her heart intent on the dry patch. It took her a bit, but once there she reared up and whinnied in her tiny foal-voice, proclaiming her joy. But then she remembered. The other being. Spinning about, she spied it was another foal! Cautiously approaching it, she nudged it as she noticed it was male. Was it breathing? Time to find out. "Hey. Hey, you! Are you alive?" She frowned, and nosed him again harshly. She also took inventory of his coloring. A deep black, like an abyss, but with a gold-white mane and tail. Like frosting on a cake. She frowned again, before backing as much as she could, prepared to ram him into the mud so she would have more room. If he didn't answer her, she would do it. And if he did answer her? She might just do it anyway.
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Post by .cay on Aug 1, 2011 0:31:34 GMT -7
I am running, gasping for air. The intrepid darkness tears at my hardened skin and drags me down to infinity. Blackness everywhere; In every direction pale gazers could turn. I strike out with a hoof I cannot even see in the ebony void. The grime and dirt that is embalmed on my skin cracks to sharpened points, jagged and dangerous as I flail about. Why am I not running? I was just running! It feels like I am falling, falling, or flying upwards, or sideways, or tumbling through some tunnel in space. I cannot say where I am; I have no sense but that of being.
Before me, I can see nothing. There is no light; Therefore there is nothing. I feel nothing, I hear nothing, I cannot explicably taste a single thing nor can I scent it. My own fear scent is somehow disguised by blackness, and I know sweat should be rolling off of my body in waves but it is somehow not present. A thought strikes me suddenly: I will try to scream. To speak, to whisper, anything to break the silence and the darkness. My jaw strains, teeth pearly white should flash but in absence of reflective material, do not.
Suddenly, everything is an incandescant orange, and I am blinded. Out of my waiting maw breaks a piercing scream, and all that is around me shatters. The sound is like a million pieces of glass breaking at once, and all right beside me. It is an avalanche of sound, snapping me out of oblivion.
My jet black head cracks upwards and I am on my feet in half a second. Sides heaving, sweat completely saturating my hide, the loud pants that escape my muzzle are almost all I can hear. Then, I see a flash of flame across the little island of rock, and I catch the end of a sentence flowing through the already hot morning air. "...You alive?" [/b] I gulp down air greedily, turning a wide, crystal blue eye towards the speaker. Alive? Certainly so, wasn't I? She is my size: A foal. Her coat is brilliant like a fire in the delicate rising sun. For a minute I stand here, dazed and still reeling from the dream which had torn apart my mental sense of inertia and vertigo. Where am I? The landscape around me seems different, somehow, but then I realise. My visage returns itself to the girl.For a moment I let my eyes wander over her; For some reason I feel like she is going to charge into me. There is a certain sense of unease that I obtain with her, but I pass it off as the jitterbug of a first time meeting. Butterlies. I try to smile, but it comes out crooked and so I cough and meet her with a bale grimace. "I am alive," I affirm, in a steadily deepening voice. After a moments hesisitation, I return; "...Are you?" My brain is still fuzzy with sleep. This must be some kind of trick. It is already too hot out, I think dejectedly. word count 530 / character count 2,798 muse none [/blockquote][/size]
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Post by Racing on Aug 1, 2011 1:01:31 GMT -7
It's as if he's in a nightmare,
I think, stepping forward once but then backed up again as his eyes flickered 'neath their hoods. His legs twitched, and I was amused. Maybe I could keep him around, for entertainment perhaps? It'd be interesting, certainly. Such an unusual color and mine mixed? We'd have beautiful heirs. I almost purred at this, but when his head swiveled up and around like a pointer finding a pheasant, I knew my daydreaming was over. As a lady, it was proper to initiate conversation and introduce yourself. So that, I already had half finished. As his bleary, crystal-like blue optics fixated on me, I preened under his gaze, but it seemed he knew me already. I pursued my lips slightly at his look-- he had probably felt I was going to ram him into the mud. Unladylike of me. Blowing an extra-long wisp of a blood-red end out of my eyes my warm brown gazers sought him ought and analytically observed him. At his words my pursued lips frowned, and I spoke, his deeper voice a sharp contrast to my church-bell tone. "But of course. If I were not alive, sir, I wouldn't be here. They call me Royale Heir Empty Thy Mind... But you, you may call me Thyme, I suppose." I allowed a smile to flit across my face but no emotion ranged my eyes.
My earthy gaze met his sky gaze, and I felt something. An apprehension, mayhap? A feeling that not all would end well? I was not sure what it was that had me so... Uptight, but I would find out. If I had to drag this colt with me through my overthrowment of the government and my building of an empire, just to find out his secrets, by damn you can be certain I would. Whatever it was, it was not a feeling I knew well nor one I liked. Did this feeling mean the colt would mess with my plans? My well-set, carefully laid and hopefully to be executed soon, plans? I should hope not. It he did he would be my first slave. And as you should know, as a forcer, I would have many. Arching a proud chestnut neck, I glanced at him and spoke again. "And... You are, then, sir?" I frowned faintly. If he were a gentleman he would have moved to introduce himself first. But I had been planning on killing him, so... Not my fault. Whatever stupid social customs I must go through to achieve my empire, I will complete them as thoroughly and cleanly as possible. Wouldn't want to leave traces.
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Post by .cay on Aug 1, 2011 1:26:15 GMT -7
At her eloquent and well-bred responses, I smile, this time in earnest. I was not in the presence of some random lost foal. Her demeanour intrigues me, and as I blink through sleep hazed portals a thought flits through my head. But... It is soon, and one could never be sure of the future in such a hasty and unpresumable present. I let the thoughts pass.
Royale Heir Empty Thy Mind... A name fit for a blue-blood. It has no certain ring to it, but when the delicate femme directs me towards her common name there certainly is one. Thyme. Like an herb or a spice, trailing over the chestnut belle I must agree it suits both her looks and personality. From what I can gather, insomuch. Stalling for time I blink softly down long, dark lashes, adverting my gaze and coughing gently again. I wonder where she comes from, who she hails to and who bred such a stunning young lady. I am at ease with her poise and courtesy; but some part of me crumbles as I realise that this little fairy looked like she did not need any protection from anyone. She looks very safe, or at least self-assured. I deflate a little.
"Forgive me," I mumble, looking down at my ebonite hooves, dulled as they were in a thin layer of mud. "I am cursed Never Ending Lust, though you may tag me as Lurev." I gather myself and stand tall and at the ready. Bringing my head center and at attention, I gaze towards Thyme again. "Why are you wandering these parts alone?" No condescendance, no sneering, just an honest curiousity. I really am interested.
The heat bears down on me already; We are in quite an open space. I flick my tail impatiently at the irritant insects but keep my gaze calm and amiable, never straying from her line of sight. Ebonite harks are slanted easily in Thyme's direction, wondering. Another thought crosses my mind, and before I can ponder it, it is lost on the wind. "You wouldn't happen to be lost? No, no," I give myself a great mental kick. "No, I'm almost certain you wouldn't be... Sorry." At this I must look away. Great. What a fool I must look like... I deflate a little more.
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Post by Racing on Aug 1, 2011 18:34:14 GMT -7
White teeth flashed in an amused grin. "Well, Lurev, it is my pleasure." With a polite nod the young lady went back to studying him. He had a delicate look to his gangly self; Arabian, maybe? And with such a body... Some type of racehorse, for sure. Thoroughbred, Quarter Horse, something good at running with such a figure. See, the girl had seen horses of both genders and many breeds, what with her parents' careers and her travels, and so had gained a keen eye to what was what. This colt was a crossbreed. Thyme's own blood was pure, and she hoped her mate, or maybe another stallion, was pure Irish like her. Then they could produce pure Irish babes, that would continue their lines on. Yet, in this Lurev, would create an Irish Sport with her. A mixture of racing breeds and Irish Draught to create an even-tempered, strong horse but with the fleet footed speed and stamina essential. Brown eyes tracked his movements and patterns, trying to figure out how he felt about her. He seemed... Disappointed? No. There it was, he was curious. That's all. She snorted softly, watching him stare at her. Then she replied, demurely, "Do not be sorry, Lurev. I am not wandering. Nor am I lost. I have simply... Left the path I was supposed to be on. I am here to build an empire." That was her way of saying, 'I'm lost... Yeah...' And the empire chat? That was just foalish stupidity, the longing for friends under any reason? This was her way of making friends.
What the filly didn't know was that her plans were highly, extremely dangerous. She would likely be enslaved by one of the stallions she would willingly create many heirs for. If not that, one probably would wreck her confidence and self-esteem, causing her plans to crumble. And she would be horribly alone and become such a foolish spectacle, it would be easy for any to take advantage of her. Hopefully by this point she would have a mate to protect her, or a savior at the end. Who knew, she might try to take her own life because without power, Thyme believed, nothing was possible. But at this point she thought anything was possible, and she was invincible. That outlook would change, not soon and not quickly, but eventually and with great reluctance, it would. "Lurev? Why are you out here?" Lyrics spoken softly but with great care, a gentle probe in the words. Observing the other foal with quiet regality, Thyme pondered.
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Post by .cay on Aug 5, 2011 13:58:28 GMT -7
Suddenly she is gazing at me intently; And unconsciously I straighten out, looking down a slightly dished muzzle with one warm, inquisitive, crystallite lanten. Her ivories are pale as the breast of a grey heron, shiny and attractive. I think absently to myself she must have one hell of a set of parentals. A tiny smile flashes across my mug, flickering and waning like the delicate flames of a dying fire. My attention is cracked back towards her as Thyme dismisses my introduction with an eloquent nod. She says it's a pleasure. A pleasure? Well... Of course it is. The smile returns but this time brightly.
"Do not be sorry, Lurev. I am not wandering. Nor am I lost. I have simply... Left the path I was supposed to be on. I am here to build an empire." I start a little. That is a concept I am hardly proficient in even my knowledge. Empire? Like... Leading territory? Confusion makes a young cranium spin; Thyme swims slightly in my vision. In my low and smooth voice, I murmur, "Empire, miss?" Suddenly I am overcome with filial shortcomings; Even if I knew what this young fairie was after, I am amiable in presuming that I will have no base to consort properly with her ideals and plans. What could she mean?
Overcome by fitful resting, I shake my head to clear it. Tuning back into the little gem I feel slightly more at ease. We were merely travellers; Meeting on the road such as any equine could. I am reminded of the many characters I have met on the road, some strange and electrifying, some warm and giving. Camping out at night felt slightly homier with a companion; But not always I am so lucky.
Why am I out here? Thyme asks: "Lurev? Why are you out here?" [/b] And I am slightly at a loss as to how to answer. Many different ideas dip gracefully in and out of my consciousness, some tempting like sweet fruit just fallen from the tree, some dissonant, and some purely incomprehesible. "Find a stallion that you like, and that is good to you. He may protect you," ... "You should, as a stallion, protect mares." Protect. Protection; Being protected; To protect. To live, and, as a stallion, protect. Protect mares, be liked, be good. Be good.Letting a small puff of air escape, I lift optics merrily back to Thyme. "I am an adventurer." My eyes twinkle dangerously but happily. "I am searching for..." Searching, searching for what? "Searching for something to treasure." Pearly whites blaze as they are exposed to the sun, shining conspicuously, thick as thieves. Thieves they may be; Light and incandescant like the sun-- stealing its sunlight. Stealing the glory. But I am flushed, excited with the prospect of fulfilling my dream. Futile as it made me seem, but the thought was infectious. Something to treasure. What a way to describe it. Treasurance: The art of finding and safe-keeping some small, immesurable object of your affection, shining bright as gold in your heart-- Blazing. Like liquid fire, coursing through your veins, burning and balming, licking your nerves and nestling deep into your heart. With every beat, it grows, sustained by oxygen and dopamine; Flaring incomparibly pure and bright when you are rewarded with either the object of your desire or a taste of it. Of it? No... Of her. I wonder what it will be like. Being liked by a mare, taking her under my dark wings and shielding her from the rain, the night beasts. Keepsake in feminine form; Golden and soluable as the midday heat, coming down in rays. Being good to her; A gentleman, protector. She would be my greatest jewel, shiniest bauble. Not just an accessory whom adorned my jet-dark pelting like glittering pearls-- No. I know not of it yet but there should be love. Not just partners in mating but mates for life. A femmora like no other, who was closest to my heart and the dearest sight for sore eyes. Sore eyes, healing light. Lightness in my hemisphere like an orbital star pulled into my galexy. That's what we'd be. A constellation. Shining and eminent just like any other solar body; Visible to everyone, heated feelings radiating from simple glaces; She woud be my sun. My light. I turn slightly my head to gaze gently over the filla before me. Sky blue lantens slide open and shut; And then I turn away. "Empire, miss?[/b] Just what did she mean? Her bright confidence felt soothing to me, light-hearted. For just a moment I fantasize that we become travellers together. Thyme looking for her empire, and Lurev looking for his Sun. Acquaintences turned friends, perhaps. After they had both relinquished their quests, maybe they would retain that. One day I could introduce her to my mate and I's young offspring, shining transfomations of ourselves. Perhaps they will be long and lean like their grandfather; Perhaps they would be the epitome of grace like their grandmother. A wondrance of whoever she would be in my future. If, future, at all.There was every possibility the pretty little femme would not consider my company. Or, that she would but only of a night or a day or two. Too bad; It was good luck that brought such young traversers together. They would be safer together, should they encounter dangerous wild animals, older and perhaps not so amiable as they two were together. Even gypsey bands of travelling slavers, looking for mares and fillas, selling them to forcers or willing darks who wanted a little help around the terrace. Anything could happen. Thinking these things, I glance almost fervently at Thyme. I hope desparately, suddenly, that she would propose to join him. A little instinct flared up inside neurons, a little feeling. Of wanting to protect. He dismissed it as good-will towards other equus. But then, I am an adventurer. What would happen, if when I find my bounty... She is adverse to it? Searching among the wilds of Blue Moon Herdlands, for a treasure. But would I ever tell Thyme what that treasure was? Exactly what I adventure for? I want to be someone who Fornever Ending intends for his first daughter, and my twin. My heart twinges a little, but my expression fails to export the emotion. "He may protect you," maybe, "empire, miss?" What could it be...? Empire? A stillness befalls my beating aorta. Lonliness.
word count 1,126 / character count 6,371 muse i'm here to take the sky par D.R.U.G.S. [/blockquote][/size]
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Post by Racing on Aug 5, 2011 21:34:50 GMT -7
I glance at him for just a moment, an amused lilt teasing across my face. "Yes, sir, an empire. Like the one my father built and the same my mother inherited. An empire, the greatest legion of creatures one can imagine, that would be solely under my, and perhaps my mate's, control. All of my children, at my side and under my will. Imagine it, Lurev, beings so strong and so united nothing can tear them apart! That, sir, that is an empire." and indeed it was, by her definition at least. After a minute passes in silence, then another, and then my lips murmur another question, and then we are back to silence. It takes a few minutes, but finally he gets this look in his eye, and then he speaks. I turn my head and narrow warm brown gazers, before grinning like a madlady. "Lurev! A treasyre? How daring and exciting! Dashing and wonderful! An epic for the legends, they shall sing of the Great Lurev! Will your treasyre look anything like my coat? All shiny and fiery?" Although the youngling was... well, young, she had quite a vocabulary and wielded it well. Her only problem was, she occasionally spoke like her mother and her mother's ladies-in-waiting did, and that way of speaking is known to those of old as 'flirting'. Since Thyme was but 6 monthes old, she knew not of what she spoke and henceforth used it in everyday speech.
Everyday speech was now not something the filly was used to-- since, after all, she had been alone for a month and all she dared to say then was 'Join the revolution! join it! JOIN IT!' which, one has to admit, can be quite frightful coming from one so young. Thyme looked at him, smiling and with a contentedness in her irises. "Ah... Lurev? I know this is pretentious of me, but... May I join you in your search?"
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Post by .cay on Aug 5, 2011 22:11:21 GMT -7
When Thyme spoke about her empire, I snapped out of my daze and attentively watched her. Unconsciously, I mve forward so that we are a mere fox length apart, my crystal seekers open and curious; Although slightly guarded and anxious. When she starts to explain her empire, the emotion rolls off of her in waves, hitting me like tsunamis. This young filla felt so strongly about something she may not be able to weild for years. However, I understand her passion, as I carry the same in my very own quest. She finishes, and I tip my head towards the ground, respectfully silent. "How nice," I murmur, frowning infintesimally. In a millisecond, however, I do recover and look up with a smile.
"I think that is wonderful, Miss Thyme. I hope very much that you can attain your goal... Or, dream, I guess. Although," I pause, amused and pondering, "even though it is a dream of yours I am sure that you will reach it, so it will also be a goal. If you ever need a helping hand in these lands, just call on me. My father is a very powerful stallion here. I'm sure we could do most anything for you." Almost shyly, I look away with a hint of colour creeping into my ears. "And if he won't or can't, well I sure would try anyways."
Raising my head with a chuckle, my tail swishes patiently in the heat. It has cooled down considerably since I was woken, but there is no wind, so it is very pleasant. My moment of enjoyment, though, is cut short when she talks so vivaciously about my 'treasure.' Slowly, I let my gaze travel upwards from her muddy and drying hooves up her lithe pillars, petite nape and into her belle face. Thyme looks radiant. "Yes... Like you, dear. Shiny and firey..." Low and soft, I'm unsure if she even heard my words.
But, again, she shocks me. Almost as if she had read my mind: "I know this is pretentious of me, but... May I join you in your search?" Lightened and instantly elated, I bounce forwards one more step and extend my cranium towards her slightly, ecstatic. "Why, I was just about to propose that! It would be safer and, and well, I'd love the company." I ignore the redness seeping down from my harks and whicker softly to my new comrade. Lightly and shyly, I brush my muzz against her cheek for only a second, drawing back with a smile. "Thank you, Thyme." My smile streches wide, and I feel truly happy for the first time since leaving my sister.
word count 463 / character count 2,459 muse none
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