There was a mild discomfort in the way she moved. Mild bruising, caused by a minor spat but one she enjoyed. The discomfort did not reflect in the manner of her walk, as where others might feel the pain from bruising Maraigh was incapable of feeling it. She carried the marks from the past of taking it too far, somehow lucky to survive almost bleeding out. Her own will to live and regain the lost life had been all to her, and so she had raged at the world.
Now she was sly, her movement more reminiscent of a snake than an equine, as she stepped to the edge of the water. Her need to drink made her throat tickle, but otherwise, she was oblivious.
Maraigh was far from a beauty. She lacked hair upon her head, not a single strand grew from her forelock down to her withers. Her crest was thick, and her build was a strange mix, heavy and light but still thick and giving her a solid build. She had no fear of anything, and no fear was dangerous.
She took her drink here, lowering her head and feeling the liquid, not able to gauge the temperate of the liquid as she took her fill. As she lifted her head, she stared across the surface of the water, as she contemplated her next move. She’d make her way, finding the way forward in time but for now, she was peaceful.
Well, as peaceful as she could be.