The Lost Islands
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Meadow

Force-claiming is not allowed here. This is a peaceful, neutral area meant for socialising.

to run all day without tiring;



Antares

[an TAH rez]

✮ sayyida ✮

▻ jyeshtha ♀ (x indira), aminah ♀ ◅


She is, admirably, less than naive. Her alert was stirred at his approach - and had he been less devoted to his wife, he’d have thought it wise to be on guard. She didn’t know that, of course, and so her instant suspicion only garnered contentment from him. Good that she was at least inclined to know the common depravity of the world at large. It would spare this desertblood sister much grieving, he thinks.

Her interest instantly piques at the mention of Salem and some of that sky-high wall tipped in his favor. It was much like himself, he finds, back when they’d discovered the Dunes existed. He does not press his advantage, nor does he take advantage of her interest as it lowered her guard so significantly. Instead he asks her for her name - her emotional response of confusion and harder thinking making him only further interested in this grayed mare. "Desertblood." His ears flick in two different directions - sure that this is not the ‘name’ and was only her grasping at the answer he’d sought from her.

"Guinevere."

He remains still as this answer is accompanied by a growth in proximity he dared not dash the hope of. Finally, her nose and his cast breaths between them, the formal greeting curving his stance so that he can arch his neck and curl his nose in towards himself enough to share her breath but also not move his feet placement. "You…You speak of the desert? On an Island?" He smiles, the longing there so tangible for him. "My home. My family calls the eastern Dunes home. If you want to join us there, we would be happy to have you."

His seashell beige color might have reminded her of a dappled version of sand, his red mane biting at his thick neck in the crisp wind. He snaps his tail against his hind legs, curbing the stallion instinct to snake his head low - fighting to stay the Prince of Mira and not a vagabond with no manners. "There are around fifteen of us - but we are growing. You would be among friends."


OF THE EASTERN DUNES OF SALEM

▻ eleven years - arabian - mulberry gray with bloodmarks - 15.2 hh ◅



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