The Lost Islands
CLICK FOR IMAGE CREDITS


Piercing my ruse.
Posted on June 30, 2012 at 11:33:48 AM by nikola

Aralusian | Grullo (AA Dd ee) | 15 hh | Five | Fuchs


He'd given her time. Time to think, time to leave, time to do something! Nikola fought something down inside of him that told him he should be mad, furious, for how she had acted. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. He was too mild-tempered, too trusting and understanding. No doubt Pierce had a past that had brought her down the path she'd chosen, a snarky one that any other stallion might have attempted to beat out of her or simply do away with her. Trouble. She was that and more but he wasn't the giving up type. She snapped at his withers and what did he do? He laid out a picnic for her in the small wooded area that was his 'forest'. Enough cover to give them privacy and thin enough to see anyone who might come calling.

Here he waited, having called out her name twice to make sure she got the invitation. Surely he would see that bay figure come 'round, ears pinned no doubt. He cleared his throat, pacing. Would she make him fetch her? What was she trying to prove? He found himself irritated at her before he'd even given her a chance this early morning. If it were fall he would have found an apple tree and brought down some for them to share. But summer was coming quickly and he didn't even know what kind of treats these trees bore, if any. He would have to find out come season. Instead he merely had a path that they could walk, up into the Ridge if she cared to, or find the oasis nearby that offered them fresh water, filled plenty by the ever spouting faucet from above. With how soggy things were here, he was feeling mighty homesick. Whenever the feeling got too great he had a moment of clarity and remembered why he'd left.

It did not, however, help his facade from staying affixed 'pon his mug. That accent, accompanied by a bastardization of the language he'd taught himself to speak on the way to these islands, was slipping through the cracks. Little breaks in his mask made by arrogant bay mares, sweet spotted lovers and children lost at sea. He was losing his gentleman tongue, swept away just as it came, in patches and spurts. How long could he keep it up before his true colours bled through and he was just another hick from the bayou?


N I K O L A



For Pierce. <3

Replies:

Post a reply:
Name:
Email:
Subject:
Message:
Link Name:
Link URL:
Image URL:
Password To Edit Post:





Create Your Own Free Message Board or Free Forum!
Hosted By Boards2Go Copyright © 2020


<-- -->