Force-claiming is allowed here once a week per character, as is blocking force-claims by the Peak/Lagoon (as a whole) once a week. Rollover is on Sundays.
She is desperation and insanity in a pretty shell, her hooves eating up the earth as she tears across the terrain sending chunks of mud in her wake. Her fear is a driving force and it blinds her peripheral, allowing her only to focus on the world in front of her. She doesn’t see the stallion as she blazes past him, the rain coming down heavier now than it had before. It soaks her back with icy cold but her adrenaline doesn’t allow her to feel the sting of bitter cold. She is deaf and blinded by the need to escape, that voice in her mind playing on a loop that sets her heart on a frantic, uneven beat. Run, Luthien.
When he yells after her, she thinks it no more than a trick of the wind; panicked, she bears down further, a shriek ripping itself from her mouth as she picks up speed until it feels like her lungs will burst. Then - miraculously - the decidedly masculine voice reaches her ears and she falters, stumbling over her hooves and correcting just in time to keep from barrelling face-first to the ground. Don’t listen to him, purrs the voice - her constant companion - but she ignores it and digs her hooves into the earth, skidding to a stop in the sludgy mud.
Her head whips around to her pursuant and she side-steps out of his path, her muscles tense with caution. She’s never trusted strangers, and since that day when her father beat her and cast her out, she’s harbored a healthy distrust of stallions. It’s obvious now in the way she eyes him, wariness waring with curiosity in her chocolate eyes. She tosses her head, paws at the ground uncomfortably, glancing up at the sky as a bolt of lightning brightens their world once more. ”Isn’t it...isn’t it more dangerous to stay here,” she questions, her voice shaky from exhaustion and skepticism. Run now, girl.
She doesn’t run. She doesn’t move at all, frozen in terror at what she’s done.
Perhaps he will kill her now and his words were but a ruse to trick her into stopping. She braces for this possibility, cringing in on herself like a wounded rabbit in the face of a hungry wolf.