<font style="font-family: rokkitt;color:#6d3d2a; font-size:10px;letter-spacing:2px">away from the <sub><font color=#a6664d>WHOLE ROTTEN SHOW</font></s

	HEAD OF THE PRAIRIE zevulun
SECONDARY		THIRD
castillon		lir

GUARDIANS jasper, micah, thames, lohan

RESIDENTS OF THE PRAIRIE
hirka, eira, aura	eirena, frond, aurelie, luna mage, daire, vervain, claret lior, hael, atropa belladonna vernonia	name, name, name

CHILDREN OF THE PRAIRIE
eriana, name, name	odette, eudora, dolores adira	name, name, name

ALLIES		ENEMIES
rafe (badlands) evrain (hills) sephiroth (thicket) bacardi (forest) mariael (arch) tyr & oswin (ridge)		none

GUIDELINES - the Prairie stands as a symbol of peace and prosperity among the islands - anyone is welcome to live here so long as they do not bring harm to the Prairie or any of it's residents - adventure and exploration is not only allowed, but encouraged! residents are asked to use their better judgement and not travel to places that could bring them harm - the head of the prairie has final say in all prairie matters. the secondary and third positions are not able to be challenged for and are selected by the head - the guardians take on a more active role in the prairie; they must protect the inhabitants of the prairie and go on patrols of the prairie borderlines and shore. they can welcome strangers to the prairie and invite anyone to live here, though they must inform one of the leaders of any newcomers or visitors

away from the _{WHOLE ROTTEN SHOW}
Posted on February 12, 2016 at 12:08:55 PM by RHYS


The Prairie. How great it had felt to finally feel the wind bathe his face with a fresh, heather-tinted breath. This is how horses were supposed to live, not holed up in dark, damp forests, and most certainly not in the arid wastelands some horses call Salem. (There's a reason why its so bloody empty in the desert and the dunes.) He swatted his tail. The flies were starting to revive themselves after the winter months. (The winter was long, and I feel more tired now than I have ever felt. It is different this year, in that age has actually clouded my excitement with a deep heaviness.) Rhys was old, and he matured faster by not having warm bodies around him in the winter, by wandering, barely eating and depleting to skin and bones in the cold months. He had known this, felt this cold, hard truth deep in his marrow from the start of his journey to Luthien. He was a ghost to this world; he always has been, and the only thing that lured him out from the Crossing was Valentine's retirement. The grey anglo arabian had wasted his life away in the Crossing, hidden to even those who looked. Rhys was covered in scars (mostly from gutsy wolves might I add) and he had a slight hitch in his right shoulder when he moved (and that just developed in my twelfth year. I do seem to be holding up though, for my age at least.) The prairie grasses licked his belly, brushing his white-gray fur. The old stallion frowned, glancing over the rolling hills before him. It seemed too easy taking this land. It must have been perfect timing, as it seemed so empty and barren, not a soul in sight. Rhys exhaled, body tense, for he didn't know what fate was laid before him, and facing an unexpected enemy means an early grave. (Especially for someone like me.) He trotted forward, down one hill and up another, smelling, seeing, hearing, feeling, and tasting the world around him. It must have been by chance that he noticed a golden girl in the yellow grasses along the border between the forest and the prairie. She was definitely round, clearly burdened with another stallion's get. He felt a slight pity. (Who would leave a mare alone like this? Let alone after he promises her protection? Why else would a mare accept his service?) The palomino seemed relaxed at the moment, and although he felt guilty disturbing her peace, Rhys knew he had to alert her of his presence. (It would be so easy just to turn tail and leave...though I'll just say hello. It is quite lonely here.) He made his way over to the lady, scarcely making a noise. Rhys was a true master in the art of stealth, though regardless of his silence, he was sure the mare could sense his presence whether it was scent, sight, or the warmth of another's body. He stopped a horse-length away, not daring to invade her personal space. (I am still a stranger.) Rhys sighed, dipping his head down for a moment as he spoke. "Do you mind if I join you?"

The Prairie. How great it had felt to finally feel the wind bathe his face with a fresh, heather-tinted breath. This is how horses were supposed to live, not holed up in dark, damp forests, and most certainly not in the arid wastelands some horses call Salem. (There's a reason why its so bloody empty in the desert and the dunes.) He swatted his tail. The flies were starting to revive themselves after the winter months. (The winter was long, and I feel more tired now than I have ever felt. It is different this year, in that age has actually clouded my excitement with a deep heaviness.) Rhys was old, and he matured faster by not having warm bodies around him in the winter, by wandering, barely eating and depleting to skin and bones in the cold months. He had known this, felt this cold, hard truth deep in his marrow from the start of his journey to Luthien. He was a ghost to this world; he always has been, and the only thing that lured him out from the Crossing was Valentine's retirement. The grey anglo arabian had wasted his life away in the Crossing, hidden to even those who looked. Rhys was covered in scars (mostly from gutsy wolves might I add) and he had a slight hitch in his right shoulder when he moved (and that just developed in my twelfth year. I do seem to be holding up though, for my age at least.)

The prairie grasses licked his belly, brushing his white-gray fur. The old stallion frowned, glancing over the rolling hills before him. It seemed too easy taking this land. It must have been perfect timing, as it seemed so empty and barren, not a soul in sight. Rhys exhaled, body tense, for he didn't know what fate was laid before him, and facing an unexpected enemy means an early grave. (Especially for someone like me.) He trotted forward, down one hill and up another, smelling, seeing, hearing, feeling, and tasting the world around him. It must have been by chance that he noticed a golden girl in the yellow grasses along the border between the forest and the prairie. She was definitely round, clearly burdened with another stallion's get. He felt a slight pity. (Who would leave a mare alone like this? Let alone after he promises her protection? Why else would a mare accept his service?) The palomino seemed relaxed at the moment, and although he felt guilty disturbing her peace, Rhys knew he had to alert her of his presence. (It would be so easy just to turn tail and leave...though I'll just say hello. It is quite lonely here.) He made his way over to the lady, scarcely making a noise. Rhys was a true master in the art of stealth, though regardless of his silence, he was sure the mare could sense his presence whether it was scent, sight, or the warmth of another's body. He stopped a horse-length away, not daring to invade her personal space. (I am still a stranger.) Rhys sighed, dipping his head down for a moment as he spoke.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

Replies:

Gonna make love to the stars - By Evaline February 19, 2016 at 04:34:15 PM

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