The Lost Islands
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Your King
Asmodeus
Your Queen
Nyimara
The Second
None
The Herd
Name, Name, Name
The Sub-Herd
Name, Name, Name
Allies
Name (Land)
Enemies
Solomon (Cove)
The Rules
  • There will be no fraternizing with enemies. If you put yourself knowingly in danger, don't expect a rescue.
  • We are only as strong as our weakest link. See to it that you are getting stronger in some skill that is useful, whether it is battling, recruiting, charming, etc.
  • The King and Queen have final say in all matters.
dust becomes us all

Beschea

Still shy of his second year, he already owns land.

In truth, he still feels too young. When he remembers the tall, thickly-muscled males that have rolled into the desert in the past, with clouds of testosterone and confidence shrouding them and their scars telling of battles past, he thinks of himself as a child in comparison. They, they are what he should be like, not this. His body, supple yet lean to the point of boniness, is stunted by lack of nutrition; he is still a hair or two shorter than his ana.

He has one thing going for him, though: his persistance. It has been months since the last stallion had disappeared, and even his scent has faded to nothing. For that, Orhan is grateful. The desert is within the hands of his family again. He may never be a tall, fine specimen with a mane and tail that reach his hocks, or have a figure that ripples and bulges with strength, but he has endured. He has stayed. He will always stay.

Having spent a large part of the afternoon checking and re-checking the borders of his family home, Orhan returns to the main oasis, where his mother no doubt will be keeping watch. He spots her stark black silhouette easily again the pale beige of the sand, and greets her with a cheerful whicker. She has been quiet lately, and is still as skinny as ever. He has been growing worried about her for reasons he cannot quite fathom these last few months; he hopes, at least, that now that he's risen to the challenge of being a lead stallion, she will at least attempt to relax some.

He exhales heavily as he swaggers forward to quench his thirst. When he is done, he stands and stares at his reflection, at the rivulets of water dripping from his grey chin. With the hot afternoon sun at his back, his reflection is framed by a golden halo, pleasing to the eye. For no apparent reason, this makes him remember his short escape to the badlands a month or two past, and the strange and intriguing equine he had met there. In particular, he remembers the girl.

He side-eyes his mother, as if afraid she will read his mind. He has been meaning to mention the filly who resembled his Aunt Dany to her, but has not yet got around to it. All this time, he has enjoyed the simple pleasure of having a secret all of his own. But perhaps it is time to tell her? He lingers in silence, unsure.

Orhan

"Dust becomes us all, in the end,
and when it blows free, so do we."
html by russell for shiva 2013 & beyond
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