The Lost Islands
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The steel of a sword only punctures if the owner wills it.




So far out of her wheelhouse, Yaga felt herself grow even more antsy. She should have been stronger, ready, but she wasn't. Letting out a breath though, the young mare took in the stallion again. Nothing about him spoke of danger, of a threat. He was calm, something she needed to do herself, but she could not seem to gather that part of her heart to make it happen.


Listening to him, the grey mare stood silent for a while, thinking everything over. He had used a word she had never heard before, which made her curiosity spike a touch. She wanted to learn, even if it was a different language. Tilting her head to the side, she nodded softly. “I won't make you leave, Dagda. This was your home before it was mine.” She was not stupid, but she was young and still learning. It would take time, but she could use any help she could get so far.


Turning her head, the shire cross looked out and about her. Birds sang above, pine needles dug into her fur, and her tail lashed against her hocks. She could hear, see, and smell things. There was touch and stimulation, but it was almost too much. Over stimulation was real and suddenly, Yaga knew she could almost taste it and cut it with a fork. “I… would you be willing to teach me?” She finally asked, her head tilted to the side. “Your language… it's beautiful from the one word I heard.”

BABA YAGA
mare | 17.0hhs | grey | Lead of the Forest




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