Meadow
Force-claiming is not allowed here. This is a peaceful, neutral area meant for socialising.
Posted on August 9, 2021 at 03:51:05 AM by S k o g s r å
 Winter's icy grasp has wrapped itself around the isles, bone chilling cold and blustery winter winds slam against the jagged mountain peaks. They howl and protest the mountain's stoic indifference. And yet the mountain does not bend to their pitiful cries. Skogsrå stands idle, the wind pushes against her dense russet and white splashed winter coat, she stands stoic just as the mountains do. Her glacial blue eyes momentarily lift to the brooding heavens just above, the heavens are dark and threatening. They warn of the impending storm that hangs just at the edge of the horizon. The ocean spreads out before her - with whitecaps atop of the massive waves - its waters are frigid and dark. She admires its intense power and strength, and just like the mountains, she admires it with a smirk on her lips and admiration in her soul. The young Icelandic mare strides across the brittle tundra grasses and fetlock deep snows, her breath plumes around her bone white face and frost clings to her veil of eyelashes. She pauses just at the edge of the angry ocean, the waters crashes with a hiss at her hooves and then they retreat back across the dark rocks, just to throw itself at her hooves once more. She is not certain what beckons her to enter the dark waters, but there is a call in her soul and a voice that lingers on the howling wind. A sharp exhale pushes past her nostrils as she steps into the frigid waters, they are icy and cause the breath in her lungs to go still. She forces a breath from her nostrils, "skítur!" she curses into the blustery winds as she slides through the frothy surf further into the dark waters. The sea spits her from its frigid waters and onto an unfamiliar shore. Her legs tremble as she pulls herself through the froth and onto the harden sand just out of the ocean's reach. A frigid wind pushes itself once more into her damp coat, causing her body to shiver and shake, and her teeth to chatter together loudly. Perfect day to take a swim, she growls grumpily to herself as she presses further inland. Brilliant blue eyes drift across the barren landscape that stretches out before her, frail yellow grasses pathetically peak through the snowdrifts and craggy naked trees reach toward the brooding grey sky. A movement draws her attention, beside a dried fractured stump, a shadow presses against it. Her eyes remain on him, she notices the darkness of his coat and the splash of white across his chest. There is a shudder in his body and she can not help but draw closer to the lone creature. As she draws close, surprise widens her eyes as he begins to transform into something familiar. His stature and build is remarkably similiar to her family, her kinsmen. Her glacial blue eyes travel to his bone white face and notices the tears that trail down his face. Her gaze softens as she gazes upon the stranger and her head lowers slightly - in hopes that her softness would soothe his aching soul. "Það er allt í lagi," she breathes just loud enough for his dark ears "Ég hef verið kölluð til að hitta þig hér." She does not understand how she had come to be here now, all she knew is that she had followed her calling. The rest was left for the gods. Translation: Það er allt í lagi: It is okay Ég hef verið kölluð til að hitta þig hér: I have been called to meet you here tip of the sword Mare - Mutt - 3 years - Silver Bay Sabino - 14.3 - Björn x Nyimara |
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Replies:
- wait for me at the edge of dawn; - By Hrafna August 17, 2021 at 05:42:25 AM
- that you'd lift this wing - By Skogsrå August 20, 2021 at 02:50:00 AM
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