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.

Hell on heels
Posted on April 21, 2022 at 03:32:22 AM by FIRESTORM




Num num num -- or at least, that’s what she tried to convince herself as she munched and chewed. Except the voice that echoed in her mind was not her own. It was that of her mother, when she was attempting to wean her. You see, Firestorm had always been a stubborn mare, even as a spring-legged filly. It took her mother finally kicking and biting her more than a couple of times, to finally accept that her days of suckling were over.

But Firestorm wasn’t a mare who settled for half-measures. She knew what she wanted, and now that she was a hearty five-year-old? She was big enough to achieve it, most times. So, when Rafe approached and greeted her with a simple hello, she found herself surprised at his more thoughtful -- yet tactical -- approach. He certainly seemed more experienced with strange mares than the last pair who had found her, here. It was safe to say she was pretty intrigued, even if she doesn’t immediately look like it.

Her ears and eyes are on him, and with a twig poking out from the corner of her lip, she draws closer to Rafe, extending her nose. Although this gesture is typical of horse behavior in greeting each other, one could get the sense that this was not an offering to the stud, but one of assertive investigation. This only lasts for a short few moments, before she decides she’s finished sampling his breath, and the scent that wafts off him. The aroma is drastically different from that of the commons which is sweet and earthy; it’s muddy and heavy with sage. The harshness catches in her throat, forcing her to snort out and draw her head away quickly. Her ears swivel back, but this is not a gesture of distaste. Fortunately, Firestorm is more than familiar with this combination -- this was a desert-dweller who’d just recently rolled in a waterhole. Or, in this instance, a desert dweller who’d crossed the channel to the main island.

Her ears pressed forward once more, before her own voice rang out in greeting. “ Hello. “ she replies, in kind. Her voice is harsher than what one may expect of a female; her words are raspy and direct, as opposed to smooth like velvet, and honeyed with kindness. “ Let me guess -- you saw me alone, and wish to ‘protect’ me? “ she asks with a touch of disdain.


RED ROAN / 14 HANDS / MUSTANG / MARE / PLAYED BY GLORY



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