The Lost Islands
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Common

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.

Like a shadow dancing on the edge;



Her proud head is given a toss as he jerks his own backwards to avoid her biting lips. His sarcastic voice is smooth in delivery and despite herself she cannot deny the slightest hint of a smile that threatens to tug the corners of her lips upwards into a smile. Pale lashes blink slowly over dark eyes as she snorts at him, "I suppose from the scars that litter your hide you have not learned to keep your tongue to yourself." she purrs watching as he seemed to straighten a bit more under her fierce gaze.

Excitement flirted in her skin, echoing through the curves and feminine lines of his skin. Deep down she wondered what it might feel like, to have such a stallion dominate her, to overpower her body and soul. Mother had always said that was what had drawn her and father together. One night of vicious passion, the result a hatred that had drawn them close with the birth of a daughter. Her. It had not taken long after for them to amend the broken road and twin colts had been born but she always liked to think it was that passionate hatred that had brought them together. Her.

Lips curl back as ivory teeth clack together as he draws near to her, his shoulders rolling as nonchalantly he remarks how little he cares about her lineage. Fury gleamed in her eyes now as she scoffed at him, long silver white plume flicking angerily as she lifts her head high. "No surprise there boy, all it takes is a pretty face huh?" she taunts.

She had expected him to back down as she reared at him, her rock jagged hooves flailing in his direction. She had not intended on him actually rising to the challenge she presented or even charging into that challenge. She squeals in protest as he shoves into her, her hind legs slipping from beneath her and plummeting her down onto the ground with a resounded thud. She grunts as her feet waste no time in finding stance upon the ground and with a strain she lifts herself back up, her dark gaze upon him. "How rude" she chastises him, bending her head to rub at a sore spot on her foreleg, her gaze avoiding his for a moment to hide the embarrassment that resulted from her tumble.

Harlequin
like a shadow dancing on the edge;
pic courtesy of mutednight @ deviantart


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