Post by ACRIMONY;; on Mar 5, 2008 9:40:56 GMT -5
Worn daggers strike the loam, edges smoothed from constant pounding such as the rhythm that her spades drummed out on the unfamiliar terra that was flying past her moving corpse. Sinew bunches beneath a canvas of obsidian, lungs screaming for oxygen as pillars cease their crazed dance, slowing from a defiant gallop to a steady jog. Torso heaves with effort, strained by the sprint. Acrimony has traveled too long for stunts like that, she reluctantly admits, stilts sliding to a stand-still. Never one to bare her weaknesses to the world, fae squares her shoulders and surveys the immediate area. This land is obviously newly claimed, for no other equines are visible. Nostrils flare Arabian-style; she is irked by the deserted terrain. Surely she was not alone, after voyaging to a land promised to offer her a home?
All was silent. The fleeting whispers of breeze toyed with her veil, tugging on the ebonite tassels that hung from her neck. Curtains fall over dark lanterns, the femme allowing herself at least a moment of rest. Was it really so bad to admit fatigue if she was alone, where no one could see her? Still reassuring herself, appendages fold beneath bodice that soon hits the ground, tucking beneath her feminine frame. Lamps are still shielded, though the mare does not drift off into slumber. Her adrenaline continues to pulse, encouraging the weary equine to stand and continue her reckless dash. The energy soon fades, though, giving way to overwhelming fatigue. She was exhausted, to say the least. Surely she was vulnerable to attack? Acrimony strains to lift one eyelid, just to scope out her surroundings, but the effort is impossible.
She was alone. For once, this thought brought comfort to the lone femme, assuring her that no one would launch attack while she rested. Her breath now flows in harmony, inhaling and exhaling in the usual rhythm as the spring wind returns, dancing over her midnight canvas, drying the sweat that clung to her bony sides. She shivers slightly; winter’s chill has yet to completely release its hold on the Earth. Even as snow gives way to the growth of new fern and flora, spring remains slightly frosty in its rebirth. Another shudder traces down her bony spine, triggered by the intensifying wind. Leave it to Acrimony to travel countless miles, arriving at an abode nearly identical to the one she had left behind. Cold. Barren. Lonely.
There was no worse curse for an equine than loneliness, of which Acrimony had received her fair share. She had left her father’s harem at a young age, confident in her abilities and ready to take on the world. And yet, here she sat, four years later, alone. A slight scoff is emitted; surely she is not admitting defeat? Defiance chases away all tendrils of loneliness, of weakness. They went hand-in-hand, the fear of being alone and defeat. Audits flattened against skull, irritated by her lapse of grit. She would fair just fine on her own, thank you very much. Exhaustion begins to gain ground, and no longer will she fight it. The maiden drifts off into slumber, losing consciousness as the spring draft caresses the tall grass that has sprung from the once-barren loam, carrying with it the all-too-familiar scent of new beginning.
All was silent. The fleeting whispers of breeze toyed with her veil, tugging on the ebonite tassels that hung from her neck. Curtains fall over dark lanterns, the femme allowing herself at least a moment of rest. Was it really so bad to admit fatigue if she was alone, where no one could see her? Still reassuring herself, appendages fold beneath bodice that soon hits the ground, tucking beneath her feminine frame. Lamps are still shielded, though the mare does not drift off into slumber. Her adrenaline continues to pulse, encouraging the weary equine to stand and continue her reckless dash. The energy soon fades, though, giving way to overwhelming fatigue. She was exhausted, to say the least. Surely she was vulnerable to attack? Acrimony strains to lift one eyelid, just to scope out her surroundings, but the effort is impossible.
She was alone. For once, this thought brought comfort to the lone femme, assuring her that no one would launch attack while she rested. Her breath now flows in harmony, inhaling and exhaling in the usual rhythm as the spring wind returns, dancing over her midnight canvas, drying the sweat that clung to her bony sides. She shivers slightly; winter’s chill has yet to completely release its hold on the Earth. Even as snow gives way to the growth of new fern and flora, spring remains slightly frosty in its rebirth. Another shudder traces down her bony spine, triggered by the intensifying wind. Leave it to Acrimony to travel countless miles, arriving at an abode nearly identical to the one she had left behind. Cold. Barren. Lonely.
There was no worse curse for an equine than loneliness, of which Acrimony had received her fair share. She had left her father’s harem at a young age, confident in her abilities and ready to take on the world. And yet, here she sat, four years later, alone. A slight scoff is emitted; surely she is not admitting defeat? Defiance chases away all tendrils of loneliness, of weakness. They went hand-in-hand, the fear of being alone and defeat. Audits flattened against skull, irritated by her lapse of grit. She would fair just fine on her own, thank you very much. Exhaustion begins to gain ground, and no longer will she fight it. The maiden drifts off into slumber, losing consciousness as the spring draft caresses the tall grass that has sprung from the once-barren loam, carrying with it the all-too-familiar scent of new beginning.
