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The Lost Islands
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Common

Force-claiming is allowed here once a week per character, as is blocking force-claims by the Peak/Lagoon (as a whole) once a week. Rollover is on Sundays.

kill the king












kill the king,
throne the queen

Drown. She almost fuckin' drown. Fury surged through her as she stumbled onto the beach, dripping and shaking. She had nearly been swept away by the relentless waves. Her tail lashed across her hindquarters as she settled on the hardened sands out of the ocean's reach. Now, safe on the sand, she glared at the churning ocean, her wet hair plastered to her head, a silent challenge in her eyes. It dared to treat her like a plaything, a fragile doll? Did it not know her lineage, the power that ran through her blood? She stomped her hoof once more, irritation fumed just below the surface.

With a defiant roar that echoed through the still air, she charged into the roaring surf. Her ears flattened against her curved neck, and her jaws parted in a fierce challenge to an unseen adversary. She rose majestically into the air, her forelegs lashing out before she plunged once more into the water's grasp. As waves crashed over her chest, drenching her silver-streaked mane, she surged forward with unwavering determination. Finally satisfied, she retreated, her nostrils flared wide and her sides heaved. A hint of satisfaction played across her whiskered lips, serves it right.

The ocean's roar receded behind her as she retreated, the whisper of salt grasses tickling her knees. Her mismatched eyes, one honey brown, one icy blue, scanned the sprawling landscape before her. A vast meadow stretched out, dotted with trees and teeming with pairs of horses, but she barely registered their presence. Her own troubles consumed her. Turning away, she lay down on the firm sand and began to roll, the grains swirling around her as she tried to dry her damp coat.

Snorting dismissively, she tucked her legs underneath her and rose to her feet. Her tail swished rhythmically across her flanks as she contentedly gazed upon the ocean's sparkling spray, transformed into a dazzling spectacle by the radiant sunlight. The lure of the boundless expanse held her captive, overshadowing the existence of the horses grazing nearby. Her spirit yearned for adventure, drawing her away from their mundane routine.




MUTT - MARE - SILVER DUNSKIN OVERO - FIFTEEN HANDS - 3 YEARS

WANDERER









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