here's a handshake, soldier,
'cause we both lost the war.
It had been a few days since Svetlana had spoken with Blackmore, and although she would be hesitant to admit it, she ached for the stallion's company. There was something about his unconfident, neurotic demeanor that made our buckskin mare feel comfortable with him, and that was something she hadn't experienced in a long time. And when I say "a long time", I mean never. She had begun to feel restless over the last few days, if only because she wasn't used to staying in the same territory for such a long time. It was something she was getting used to, but old habits do, in fact, die hard.
Her blunt teeth crop the short grass of the Ridge even shorter, bright amber eyes occasionally raised to look over the cusp of the cliff and down to the dark water of the ocean below. She'd spent a lot of time here in the past few weeks, after Blackmore had taken her down to the beach. The salty breeze comforted her in her times of restlessness, convincing her to stay with its endless tumbling. Today, though, it wasn't just the sound of the ocean on the wind. A call from Blackmore reaches her pricked ears -- one that is full of frustration. Svetlana snorts in surprise, head raising from the grass as she turns away from the ridge and starts in the direction of her liege.
It doesn't take her long to find him (she had grown to know the land quite well). His expression is morose and Svetlana can't help but frown as she stops a few yards from him. "You look positively worried about something, my dear."
S V E T L A N A
female ∙ buckskin ∙ the ridge |