| S K R A E L I N G
Everywhere the darkness falls, each dreadful tendril wrapping around each blade of grass and every frozen limp of winter beaten trees. Clouds of dark and ominous hue forbid the light of the moon to shine upon the ground, casting a true night darkness upon a owned and neutral territories alike. Birds of innocence have a vicious crow as if monsters that lie in wait for prey to come by as a simple meal. Rocks that fall in the distance clatter down to the lower levels of peaks and ridges as they sound like thunder through the vivid darkness. It is a living nightmare for any child who gets lost within the choking grasp of shadows and invisible monsters as invisible claws rake through mane and tail without a care in the world and without remorse. Shrieks of those that fear are clear upon the midnight air but their pleads go unheard by the monsters that rule the hellish night, they merely move from fearing foal to fearing creature, never once missing a beat in the night's deadly serenade. Fear feeds the moving shadows, leaving them strong every night as new creatures are brought into the world, their imagination blinding and ignoring logic as they choose to fear instead of truly think about the truth behind the hideous noises. It is in this background of horrible harmony that a sinister laughter flitters through the minor-keyed notes of night, echoing through the walls of tenebris. It is seemingly inescapable while it echoes restlessly through trees and ridge walls. A new creature of the night time world has found the way to the island rings, her blood returning to such lands but diluted by another.
A peak crowned by snow stands erect in the darkness of night, the strength of it's structure clear as day to wandering eyes that hold nothing but the shadows within them. Black painted nostrils flare to the rhythem of a song only she seems to hear, scents a plenty filling the cavities of mind and body as the being of each scent is pulled apart. One. Two. Three. Four. One. Two. Three. Four. As if meant to be the counts goes with the night time cadence as recent scents are counted, though if the body still remains seems to be the night creauture's only question that is left unanswered. Curiosity is not a known emotion, for it is not what leads shadow and mare a like. A purpose for everything and everything for their purpose as a vulture on her peak looks down like a hungry wolf upon the unsuspecting victims of her shadowed demeanor. Shadows are misunderstood, called to be threatening when they merely mask the heat of day so relief can be given upon the night hours, and such is the mare who stands high on the mountain, having tresspassed hours prior, when the night had originally come to lie shadows down to rest.
In silence she has stood, seeking refuse in what is familiar as tendrils of shadow are like silk to her sculpted body, each sash a reminder of her foundation, of her heritage that once had been known far and wide. Now it is just her and her familiar shadows, resting with each other when the light approached the horizon like a damned disease and rash. Time is short as the moon is surely climbing down from her peak so that the sun make take throne once more in a mere few hours, quickly things must be done. It is surely known that her presence is somewhere in the night covered land, but where she made sure would remain uncertain and a mystery. Yet the darkness sings across her ears as the breeze slips between them, tickling the rim of her ear with a melody of her soul, a minor key so beautifully haunting as warnings are given of the approaching day, urging her to not waste another beautiful night as an unknown creature of shadow. A noise resounds through the air as it is coaxed from her being, a shrill sound from deep within the gut of a creature that holds nothing back. It is a demand, but not one such with such disrespect as a pompous creature may give, but a demand of a request. She speaks to the mares of the peak, calling them to her should they wish to come - as they should, for a stranger in their midst could spell trouble if they do not take care to check it out (not to say she's trouble). She is short with her bellow, to the point as she pushes off the cliff shelf she had found a temporary perch on.
Rocks click and clatter with hooves as they tumble down the peak side unexpectedly, giving way to her hooves as they skid and step across the slanted terrain with a knowing ease and daunting grace. Methodical and confident does she move, as if dancing with a cloaked reaper down the dangerous mountain side. Muscles beneath a silk-like coat ripple powerfully with each movement as they remain taunt as a balance to her frame, easing her down with practiced simplicity. It is at the base of the shadowed mountain she shall meet with those that are curious enough to approach. Her patience will last only as long as the moon does, if only because of an agreement from old times that put her to sleep during those hours. She stands tall, whether shorter or not, as sixteen hands even with a purebred Friesian build that is colored like the shadows. A flawless - scarless, at the very least - and un-faded coat speak of her nocturnal habits. Weight distributes evenly across four well muscled legs while her neck arches in typical fashion, ears erect and unthreatening while pooled around by a thick forelock of black that waves like the ripples of an ocean, mirrored easily by both mane and tail. A beauty to behold, with confidence to rival that of any stallion native to these lands that have pride in themselves. Shall she misunderstood like her beloved shadows? Or will they both be given a chance in a peak of vulcans?
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