Your King Asmodeus | ||
Your Queen | ||
The Second None | ||
The Herd Name, Name, Name | The Sub-Herd Name, Name, Name | |
Allies Name (Land) | Enemies Solomon (Cove) | |
The Rules
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Posted on January 23, 2013 at 04:37:49 AM by el aran
No matter the culture, all males knew that to touch the young of a foreign female would be met with resistance, aggression, and fury. El Aran had thought that to be a universally acknowledged truth, and yet the stallion with the curiously curled ears before her seemed indignant that she should try to protect her offspring from a perceived threat. Still, she was thankful his attention was entirely on her, and that her son was no longer within reach. The seer stood tall before the stallion she had just welcomed, if rather reluctantly, into her home, and hoped her body blocked Orhan from sight. The stallion —Renaissance, she reminded herself— had not reacted at all to her physical aggression, not even to step back from her weight or duck away from her teeth when they’d hovered over his flesh, close enough where her own breath had curled back against her nose when it met the resistance of his spotted skin.
His lack of reaction made her more wary than before, but his words were even more infuriating. Were all stallions the same on these islands? Encantador had been the least ridiculous. He, at least, understood the dynamics of a proper herd, and had worked with her for the good of all. A short, sharp laugh burst from her. "Leave herd business to the mares. Stallions have no right to decide who among the herd is most suited to leading the others." The black mare slapped her tail against her flanks and pushed her ears back. There was nothing more she desired to say to the stallion in front of her, at least nothing that would not escalate the tension strung between them. She wanted him to go away, back over the sandy dunes and out of sight until he wasn’t even in the Desert anymore and she never had to think of him again. But life was not that easy, and fate did not change on any whim, much less hers. El Aran’s left ear lifted as Orhan splashed out of the pool. She turned her head sharply to be sure he did not walk forward past her shoulder, her mouth open and ready to pinch his flesh in warning of the red and white danger that stood before them. But Orhan stayed beside her, and as he spoke she turned her hard gaze back to Renaissance. She was proud of her son for speaking up, but also afraid for him. He had called attention to himself, and the challenge in his words would likely not go over well with their new... lead. The black mare braced herself, prepared to leap in front of her son and retaliate should Renaissance attempt in any way to touch her buckskin son. el aran
Seer of Aşk. |
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Replies:
- the artist's palette falls - By r e n a i s s a n c e January 29, 2013 at 08:21:23 PM
- the gods contend in vain - By el aran January 29, 2013 at 10:28:06 PM
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