Common

MY, MY THOSE EYES LIKE FIRE

I'M A WINGED INSECT YOU'RE A FUNERAL PYRE



Long gone were the days of safety and security. Long gone were the fleeting days where the childhood yearning to be grown and truly free. Scoria had grown. Her coat was no longer speckled sparsley of white, but instead it had shifted to be similar to her mother’s - the varnish haze had taken over a majority of her coloration, leaving blotches of her soot and ember colored coat beneath it. Her proportions no longer gangly, her movements no longer bumbling and awkward. She carried herself with a wild grace.

She had finally srayed from the Harbor, the only home she had ever known. In her formative years, it was safe, but there was a degree of uncertainty and tension that always lingered. Drosera had made great efforts to be an amicable anchor to anyone who needed. As for Scoria, she did not lie or withhold information from her. Drosera had spoken gently, but plainly of the situation at hand. Scoria was always grateful for the honesty and the opportunity to learn and understand. It was a factor that shaped her into who she was to this day.

Scoria had left the Harbor as soon as she had reached adulthood. She had debated leaving once her dependency on her mother was no longer required for her survival, but had stuck around for the uncertain times that had followed, as well as the birth of her younger sister. Eventually, she had parted ways with all she had even known, and eagerly sought out her own path. The path itself was unknown and untrodden, but that was part of the thrill. She trots through the sea of wildflowers that blanket the territory of the common grounds, stance upright and attentive as she glanced around. The air was crisper than she was used to in her tropical upbringing, even in the warmer months.


Scoria

vulcan x drosera

north swedish draft x noriker - mare - of (nowhere)