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many times had the silver mare wandered into new horizons, only to leave with disgust as the land rejects her presence. of course, it was to be expected sometimes, but in theis new land - the land of tommorow's wrath - it was also to be expected. but it was not so; she seemed to meld with the heralded earth the second her flint-like hooves touched the sweet grass, and her body sang with glee at the wonderful sense of belonging she recieved upon entry. it was like an addictive drug, that sense of belonging; sweeping her away like so much sand on a desert duststorm. god, this place is stunning. name; voltaire alias kat | "...a true champion would find a way not to fight war..." "...we kill all the caterpillars and then complain there are no butterflies..." t H i s iS TomoRRoW Love's denying, - - |
.. v o l t a i r e |