Subject:  - - )( - - **~~~~~~ Never the Less ~~~~~~** - - )( - - |
Author:
Exit Wounds
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Date Posted: 13:17:07 03/18/01 Sun
Author Host/IP: NoHost/216.18.108.134
In reply to:
Never The Less
's message, "<->~<->~<->~<->~Exit Wounds~<->~<->~<->~<->" on 08:12:48 03/18/01 Sun
--The lone figure stands atop the hill, the sun clearing the horizon, a wave of warmth washing over his awaiting pelt. Each lock of mane, each strand of his pelt absorbing the sunlight, his blood warming, rushing in a crimson river through his veins. Sharp stones of onyx which form the stallion's hooves rest upon the earth, inflicting curved wounds upon the meadow, the soil beneath licking against his hooves... mane cascades over his neck, the ashen tendrils being tossed in the wind, each strand restless, their dance neverending. He could make out the femme in the distcnce, orbs grazing upon her form, studying each feature, attempting to journey into her soul.. to find her secrets... her desires.. her pain.. the torrential winds weave themselves over the surface of his orbs, the membranes so soft, giving into the crisp streams of air, forming a crystal fluid over his eyes, his vision now distorted. He blinks, eyelids shutting off all sight, the blackness of the night forming over his eyes. He opens them again, feeling the tear stream away... he finds now that his pathway into the vixens heart has been distorted, his eyes no longer able to sketch their way into her soul...... he supports all of his weight upon his rear limbs, his front appendages able to float into the air, pulling him into a rear... mane performs a strange dance in the wind as he tosses the coal tendrils... throwing his dial to the sky he emits a powerful cry to the femme, his call not desperate, not angry... it is filled with nothing, and yet... everything...... it calls to her, pulling her forward, the sound hoping to draw her nearer, his heart not satisfied with the faint view he had of the most obviously beautiful vixen before him.. hooves land upon mother earth, stabbing into it, digging faryther into the already formed grooves... he watches the femme, never removing his orbs from her, onyx hooves pull him toward her, though his mind tries desperately to hold him back.. conscience (sp?) fails, and he begins toward the beautiful femme, hooves brushing against the wind, their movements forming a cyclone of draft...... lobes swivel to the top of his crown, their pointed shapess listening for an answer from her... a call of defiance.. of welcome..... anything that escaped the mare, his lobes would harness from the wind, embrace, fill his heart with..... he stops just yards from her, orbs fixed in comprehension, his body not quivering, even his mane and tail seem frozen in time...... he stands..... watching... waiting...--
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