The Lost Islands
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HEAD OF THE PRAIRIE
zevulun
SECONDARY THIRD
castillon lir
GUARDIANS
jasper, micah, thames, lohan
 
RESIDENTS OF THE PRAIRIE
hirka, eira, aura
eirena, frond, aurelie, luna
mage, daire, vervain, claret
lior, hael, atropa belladonna
vernonia
name, name, name
 
CHILDREN OF THE PRAIRIE
eriana, name, name
*odette, eudora, *dolores
adira
name, name, name
 
ALLIES
ENEMIES
rafe (badlands)
evrain (hills)
sephiroth (thicket)
bacardi (forest)
mariael (arch)
tyr & oswin (ridge)
none





 
GUIDELINES

- the Prairie stands as a symbol of peace and prosperity among the islands
- anyone is welcome to live here so long as they do not bring harm to the Prairie or any of it's residents
- adventure and exploration is not only allowed, but encouraged! residents are asked to use their better judgement and not travel to places that could bring them harm
- the head of the prairie has final say in all prairie matters. the secondary and third positions are not able to be challenged for and are selected by the head
- the guardians take on a more active role in the prairie; they must protect the inhabitants of the prairie and go on patrols of the prairie borderlines and shore. they can welcome strangers to the prairie and invite anyone to live here, though they must inform one of the leaders of any newcomers or visitors
For once, my tears make flowers. (Open)

For once, my tears make flowers.


There is always one animal out of a group that stands out like a sore thumb. They are mopey, alone, and always making others see them as the weaker of the group. More like Eyore than Winnie the Pooh. Sometimes the shadow that can't be brightened by the sunlight. There was always that one person in a group, be it human, equine, canine, feline, so on and so forth. There was never really a cure found for one that seemed to be so down, but with time they made progress, or so those on the outside saw.

Standing alone in the land was a mutt, one that did not care what she was crossed with. She was a yearling, slightly on the lower side of the spectrum for her age. The mare wanted to make friends, but she always managed to fail. Her calm mopey demeanor deterred a lot of animals away from her, but what was to be expected from someone that had yet to find her slot in life?

Lucine, the mopey zoo lion of her life, found her eyes wandering around the land she stood. No friends, no one to be close with, and sure as heck no one to play around with. Having found herself alone for a tiny while, the mare had begun to just find friendship with that of the rocks and grass, playing with random strands to make herself tired enough to sleep most nights. Generally, Lucine was a mare that would listen, even with her young age. There was no will to fight or cause trouble, just the urge to go find friendship. Heaving a sigh though, the mare looked around her before slowly plodding down to the salty water of the ocean.

With the waves gently lapping at her hooves, Lucine stepped further into the water until she was chest deep, her soft hooves slightly sinking into the sand so she did not get swept away. Her gentle amber eyes scanned the horizon, just wishing to make friends with anyone. Be it an older horse, her age, or right in the middle, Lucine did not care. She held no knowledge of what her life was meant to be and for now, she just wanted to be enjoying the winter as its cool air slowly came into the islands. Sighing, the mare looked down to her reflection.

“Why is it that I am always so alone?” She questioned the horse in the water. It was like a broken mirror, her reflection twisting with the waves coming onto shore. She was only a yearling, almost two years, but who was to say she could not feel like this now? Autumn had gone and honestly, the little filly could not remember much of it. Her memory was spotty, but she didn't question the little things it hid from her. On the contrary for that actually. She was thankful she did not remember all that the last bit of time had given her.

Staring down, Lucine pinned her ears when her reflection said nothing. Raising a hoof, she stroked at the water, the liquid rising up to splash her on the nose. Snorting, she once again pawed the water with force. More and more droplets found themselves all over her neck, face, and withers. Narrowing her eyes into slits, Lucine gave an angry cry and reared up, front legs hitting the water with a resounding splash. “Stupid reflection. You never make the tears go away. At least I know in spring, I can grow my own stupid flowers.”

Lucine - Mare - Spotted Draft Horse Mutt - Amber Champagne - 15.2hh



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