| Subject: Re: *the stallion watches her form diminish, eyes closing in a groan of mourning and head lowering as her ashes blow away into the heavens* |
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Date Posted: 19:42:28 08/26/02 Mon
In reply to:
Stone Lightning
's message, "*the stallion watches her form diminish, eyes closing in a groan of mourning and head lowering as her ashes blow away into the heavens*" on 18:54:32 08/26/02 Mon
*shit, someone plays a Masquerade....damnit.......ok, name change :-P I suppose its up ta you if yer taking the runt, Stone*
A respecting glance was thrown upwards with the eyes of the youth. A brazen grit flowed deeply through her generations, the defiant humanities which had always burrowed deep in the blood of Juniper and her arabic lineage were apparent in the scrutinizingly bold filly. Exerting a momumental ammount of strength, the youth extended a prim foreleg, pewter coat taut with strain. All four nimble limbs were splayed now, underneath the akward physique, and the charred, auburn fawn-eyes gazed in wonderment in the cheronese surrounding her. Everything was so vivid; to the youth, a hue undescribably in its vivaciousness in the image chasms of one whom has seen all for the first. Her eyelids flutter, quickly, in case. The youth did not want to miss out on anything there might be to see.
So vivid, the world.
I will not make the mistakes.
My life I take for granted.
The stygian orbs dart back and forth, but stop, suddenly, refined jowl of the prowess aimed in wonder at a peticular sight a few metres afar. A shoot of vegetation, rustled by a rapt wind shivering its way through the few, meek branches, entranced the little youth. On willowy, spindled legs, the youth wobbled forth in a spider-like manner, face gritted in a stubborn deturmination. Upon reaching the verdency, she hautled immediatly, throwing her plyable monument at the base of the shrubbery. A Juniper Bush. The fruits of its labor weighed the nimble branches tremendously, hunter branches brushing the surface of the frigid terrain. Somehow, the sight was captivating to the now tranquil youth.....as if a deja vu, a past remembrance. Her meak eyes watching with intent; no sign of any emotion aparent on the silver countanace. A sigh, a flutter of the silken pelt that adorned her barrel, and her refined muzzle gazed up at the immensely respected elder above her. Maw cocked in a questioning glance but, suprizingly, not one of a youthful innocence. It was the countanance from an aged soldier; a worn, knowing look that one aquires from years of understanding. Surely she could know nothing; one of her stature could not know anything but instinct. But maybe.....perhaps.....
It was.
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