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.
surrender to nothing Posted on April 5, 2020 at 10:03:49 PM by Hawke
Hawke
xxy / six / grullo tobiano / mixed breed / 15.3hh
Though hir build was slightly masculine in the thick arch of hir mouse-colored neck and the broader plane of hir chest, Hawke lacked the external equipment of a stallion and the few who had encountered hir so far had presumed the grullo to be a mare. Therefore it would come as no surprise to those who understood the purpose of this place that shi would be approached so quickly - an untethered mare was a target to any stallion, be he a bachelor or the guardian of a herd. Hawke could be no less enthralling, at least at a distance. Shi would never be considered beautiful - the mix of masculine features softened by feminine curves was too strange for that word to apply - but, in hir own way, the androgynous equine’s appearance was striking. A splash of white on hir withers brightened Hawke’s otherwise drab, dirt-colored coat, and the white hairs that mingled with black in hir mane and tail created a compelling contrast of dark and light.
Even the scar that marred hir visage was appealing, in a macabre sort of way. Such imperfections always seemed to invite questions, and during one of Hawke’s rare attempts at socialization shi had told the story of its origin. A valuable lesson had stuck with hir since the loss of that eye - to keep hir distance from hir own kind, and to remain alert always. For that reason shi was aware of the pale-maned bay even before her approach, and took a single wary step backwards when the woman did begin to draw closer. It was not a gesture intended to offend, but as Hawke’s body language was stiff with discomfort and hir coal-tipped ears laid back in uncertainty, perhaps it would. It wouldn’t be the first time shi subconsciously drove others away.
”W-what?” the grullo stammered, sotto. Hir voice, too, provided no useful clues as to hir gender - it could have been a high tenor or a low alto, and though rough from lack of use, lacked the distinctively gritty timbre of many stallions. As Hawke struggled to comprehend the foreign sounds that the mare had spoken, hir smoky tail lashed the air a single time in agitation. This provided the first clue to hir gender, stirring a scent that was neither stallion nor mare into the air. As quickly as had begun, however, the action ended - as the painted horse relaxed at the more familiar, comforting sounds of hir native tongue.
”Returning,” the grullo replied, the brevity of hir reply sounding curt and cold even to hir unpracticed ears. ”I was born here,” shi elaborated after a brief pause, not wanting to be impolite. ”But as to whether I belong?” a shrug of hir shoulders would have been given were Hawke human, but as an equine shi could only allow hir dubious voice to trail off into silence. To the amateur’s ear, it may even sound as if the fact of this uncertainty hardly mattered, but there was a note of pain in hir voice that a practiced ear would be unable to miss.
Hawke had always wanted to belong. But wanting and doing were two very separate concepts, and no amount of desire could override the nature of hir own kind, or the will of the gods or of fate, if you believed in such things. Hawke, personally, did not know what shi believed in - besides the inherent cruelty of the world. But shi had often pondered at the reason for existence, as those who exist in a darkened state of mind often do. Some believed that there was a purpose to every action, and others felt that fate was a tenuous concept at best. After all, how could any single moment determine the course of a being’s entire existence?
Was this the difference between those who walked in confidence, and those who looked as lost as shi? Hollowpoint’s child pondered this question in characteristic silence as shi studied hir companion in a series of brief glances. Shi had noticed the shorter creature doing the same to take in the pucker of hir scar, and wondered if a direct stare was considered discourteous. Perhaps that was the reason that few approached hir, and fewer chose to remain in hir company. Hawke had been weaned early after hir mother had abruptly abandoned the isles, and hir father had been so broken by the event that he’d never been the same after. There had been no one to teach hir these things, not after the only family shi’d ever known had abandoned hir.