Force-claiming is not allowed here. This is a peaceful, neutral area meant for socialising.
| Sabor these claws cut to the bone |
| The svelte creature, glinting gold in the midday sun, came ashore with curiosity and hunger burning bright in her soft green eyes. That she did not linger in the surf, or turn back to the waves served as clear indicators for two things: that she was alone, and everything behind her belonged only to the past. Despite the exertion from the lengthy swim from the mainland, she was unharmed and in good health, the lines of her lean body boasting as much strength as she possessed elegance. Lean and wiry, she was already only the move – restless, for beneath the rapid rise and fall of her breast as she sought to steady and slow her breathing, her heart was beating like a timpani drum, driving her ever onward in search of another discovery, another adventure, another mystery.
Despite the gleam of her eyes as she caught sight of a meadow in the distance, the grasses a faded, deep-summer green, she turned aside, thirst beating out hunger. There would be time to sate herself later, and to frolic in the meadow-green by moonlight. For now, she desired water, so she could wash the tang of the ocean from her mouth (its saltiness reminded her of the way blood tasted), and cleanse her itching skin of the impurities that clung to her, the salt-crust drying in her briny mane and tail, speckling the fine slope of her shoulders and the rise of her hips like snowflakes. A rich peal of laughter sounds as the wild woman finds amusement in this errant thought; what a contradiction that was, snow in the summer. Sabor was especially fond of incongruities that defied rational thought. Opposites were always so attractive. Perhaps she has disturbed the peace of those who were here before her, but there is nothing apologetic about her manner. However, Sabor is not in the mood to make trouble, presently, and so she moves on quite willingly, the sway of her hips as sultry as the still afternoon air. One figure in particular draws her attention, but she is demure in revealing her interest, and leaving them with only a sidelong, lidded glance that she draws out with a deliberate turn of her head - an unspoken invitation that they are free to accept or forget. It does not take her long to find that which she seeks. (It never does, for she has long since mastered the Hunt, and like every other aspect of her psyche, her persistence knows no bounds). With an arch of her neck, Sabor basks in the warm glow of satisfaction that blooms briefly in her chest before she steps gracefully into the pool of water, her elegant legs carrying her to the thin silver veil that ripples down from the heights. Drinking her fill, Sabor finds relief from the balminess of the afternoon. The water is cool upon her skin, but she is unable to focus on this sensation for nearly as long as she’d like when she becomes vaguely aware of the presence of another. A furtive glance reveals no-one, and Sabor reaches for the glassy veil of water, shining like a mirror. Waiting. Watching from the corner of her moss-green eyes. The gold and gleaming mare hopes it is her stranger from the meadow. (If it is not, well, maybe she would go hunting later, and softly sigh her disappointment, lament and languish in the light of it all - ‘I couldn’t even miss you properly, because you gave me nothing, and still I found myself wanting.’) “Come now,” she turned, the movement precise, raising her lilting voice so as to be heard over the gentle hiss of the waterfall she had claimed as hers for the coming evening. With a tilt of her refined muzzle, Sabor spent a moment scanning the foliage bordering on her little pool. When no-one revealed themselves immediately, the gilded woman flicked an ear, and with speckled lips curling into a coy smile (revealing a momentary glimpse of her teeth), the slim mare resumed her indulgent ministrations alone. She spoke only once more, again angling her muzzle (glistening anew with rivulets of water) towards the spot where her flashing eyes had caught a glimpse of her reticent companion. “No need to be shy.” Somehow, despite the way she was forced to increase her volume in order to be heard, Sabor’s voice was still a sultry purr. And her very words seemed a contradiction, the way she let them curl off her tongue, so laden with danger and desire. Portent, plea and promise all at once. |