Meadow
Force-claiming is not allowed here. This is a peaceful, neutral area meant for socialising.
Posted on April 9, 2020 at 02:39:58 PM by VERCINGETORIX
He is a man of his own making.
Perhaps it was a deep down joy that found him sprinting through the snow, or perhaps a need to fight the bland, depressing aura that lingered over the meadow as people shuddered and grumbled through the mild winter.
He remembers storms that killed infants, howling and twisting overhead, dumping snow down on the earth and making it almost impossible to survive the winter. He remembers seeing skeletal forms in the horses that lived around him, and more ominous still were the corpses that he had seen, dusted with snow and frozen solid. There is a shiver that runs down his spine at the memory, but he is not bothered by it, for sleep was no longer unattainable, and here in the meadow there were still generous clumps of grass to be found under the snow.
Rubbing his hoof against his cheek, he can see the grullo woman moving towards him, a bitter look on her face and equally disdainful words on her lips. Interesting. For a moment, he prolongs the pleasure of scratching his cheek, as if completing the act was more important than bearing the abuse of her words, and as he procrastinates another finds them- a young man of similar size and constitution to Vercingetorix, and with an almost jovial chuckle at the end of his words.
Finally, Vercingetorix straightens to look at them, peering into their faces for a moment or two before eyeing the mare. “Perhaps if you ‘wasted more energy’ you wouldn’t be so bitter.” Matter-of-factly, Vercingetorix was never one for clever words or witty comebacks, so his statement is more blunt than usual, like admitting that his actions were of no concern to some strangers. If he ran himself into the ground and was dead before the end of winter, the woman should see that as one less mouth to feed, he surmised.
“Here.” He says before turning to address the young man, now placing a stern eye across his painted skin, and finding that winter was being kind to such a young fellow, and for that he is almost thankful. Vercingetorix remembers the violently cold winters that had ripped through the islands long, long ago. “I am Vercingetorix, and you…?” His question drags, addressing both man and woman as he waited for them to fill in the gap.
Perhaps it was a deep down joy that found him sprinting through the snow, or perhaps a need to fight the bland, depressing aura that lingered over the meadow as people shuddered and grumbled through the mild winter.
He remembers storms that killed infants, howling and twisting overhead, dumping snow down on the earth and making it almost impossible to survive the winter. He remembers seeing skeletal forms in the horses that lived around him, and more ominous still were the corpses that he had seen, dusted with snow and frozen solid. There is a shiver that runs down his spine at the memory, but he is not bothered by it, for sleep was no longer unattainable, and here in the meadow there were still generous clumps of grass to be found under the snow.
Rubbing his hoof against his cheek, he can see the grullo woman moving towards him, a bitter look on her face and equally disdainful words on her lips. Interesting. For a moment, he prolongs the pleasure of scratching his cheek, as if completing the act was more important than bearing the abuse of her words, and as he procrastinates another finds them- a young man of similar size and constitution to Vercingetorix, and with an almost jovial chuckle at the end of his words.
Finally, Vercingetorix straightens to look at them, peering into their faces for a moment or two before eyeing the mare. “Perhaps if you ‘wasted more energy’ you wouldn’t be so bitter.” Matter-of-factly, Vercingetorix was never one for clever words or witty comebacks, so his statement is more blunt than usual, like admitting that his actions were of no concern to some strangers. If he ran himself into the ground and was dead before the end of winter, the woman should see that as one less mouth to feed, he surmised.
“Here.” He says before turning to address the young man, now placing a stern eye across his painted skin, and finding that winter was being kind to such a young fellow, and for that he is almost thankful. Vercingetorix remembers the violently cold winters that had ripped through the islands long, long ago. “I am Vercingetorix, and you…?” His question drags, addressing both man and woman as he waited for them to fill in the gap.
VERCINGETORIX
image by starski / html by russell
Replies:
- just goes to show - By dredge April 9, 2020 at 09:45:17 PM
- cuba libre - By bacardi April 16, 2020 at 07:32:54 AM
- Love in a lifetime of war. - By VERCINGETORIX April 17, 2020 at 03:39:53 AM
- that the blood you bleed - By dredge April 21, 2020 at 03:54:16 AM
- cuba libre - By bacardi April 30, 2020 at 07:31:27 AM
- that the blood you bleed - By dredge April 21, 2020 at 03:54:16 AM
- Love in a lifetime of war. - By VERCINGETORIX April 17, 2020 at 03:39:53 AM
- cuba libre - By bacardi April 16, 2020 at 07:32:54 AM
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