The Lost Islands
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we are the walking dead *

the coffin is moving
Asp did not so much match the cold; instead, he looked more like the rocks that littered the coast line. For a red dun, he certainly was not the color of fire—instead, he was a dismal sort of red that bordered on chocolate brown, and his face was splashed with white like a line of snow.

He heard her call as he was tending to Dragonmaw, the weather not allowing him to return to the commons lately. He found he did not mind, for the swim was cold, and Dragonmaw's company was enough to keep his mind off trying to broaden his horizons. But soon, the weather would break and he would go back to the large island and continue his search for ladies to add to the herd.

After pinning his ears and shaking his heavy head at his current companion to clearly say Dragonmaw ought not follow, Asp leaped into a canter and soon found himself before the bloody and injured mare, one of his ears pricked forward and the other poking back into his mane. It was a clear expression of confusion, and Asp snorted through his pink nostrils, trying to get the coppery smell of blood out of his nose.

He didn't like that she was alone and injured.

He didn't like that she was alone and injured and seemed content on staying alone and injured.

With another snort, Asp halted and wheeled on his hind legs, aiming to get himself on the other side of the mare to get her to go in the direction he had come. At first, he would be gentle; he flicked both of his ears back and stamped one of his front hooves.

But if she didn't obey and go toward where Dragonmaw likely waited, Asp was not afraid to push her, injured or not.


asp *
five . quarter horse . red dun min. overo [ee/Aa/DD/nO] . 15.3hh . stallion . the inlet . played by hashtag




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