Long mane falling haphazardly in her face, Grace tossed her head just a bit. It was an effort to clear her forelock from her eyes. Still, she’s elegant. Timeless even. As she moves, that elegance seems to swallow her up and take hold. Poetry in motion. Grace’s movements are effortless, even as moves over the snowy ground. A little snow wouldn’t hold her back, after all. Movement would also keep her warm.
A call comes in response. A woman! Grace’s ears flicker, and she calls out once more. There-- her eyes meet the stranger, expression open and curious. She’s pretty, silver mane hanging in her face just as Grace’s does. “I’m not, no,” her words are silken, closing the gap between herself and the stranger with a dancer’s step. “I’m Grace,” her words ring softly, like a small bell in her chest. A queen, and she’s trying not to be breathless.
But before Grace could speak again, a painted man had joined the party. He approached, and he was… near. There is no fear in her, but curiosity shines from deep within. The way he spoke was so curious. Grace’s gaze danced across his face, head quirking to one side as she took a shallow step from Nyimara’s side. A… a cannibal? What sort of place had she washed up in? Strange shores. Incredibly strange shores. Grace’s pulse picked up just slightly at the mention. Was he kidding? She can read the disdain from his gaze. Was she in danger?
Grace’s eyes flicker between the two, feeling more like a child than she has in a very long time. “Is that true?” Forced to bear children against their will, it sends a chill racing up Grace’s spine. It’s enough to see the shiver course through her body. She takes another step towards the man, uncertainty creating a knot in her throat. The names of places flooded her head as the man spoke them-- the Lagoon, the Meadow, the Falls. It would be dark soon. Was she in far more danger than she initially realized?
14.2 hh. classic champagne leopard. 4. knabstrupper x saddlebred.
|