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Post by Beka on Aug 11, 2006 19:51:13 GMT -5
 It didn't take a rocket scientist to prove that life was harsh; Sile knew what without even having to ask. When you're born with absolutely no sight at all, you catch on pretty quick. You also find very quickly that not everyone is all that nice; especially when they take advantage of your handicap to hurt you a foul, wicked way and leave you far worse off than what they intended yet manage not to notice.
No, the world was a terrible place, filled with terrible people and terrible places. Rule number one had changed from not talking to strangers to do not trust a single living soul unless you've got proof they won't stab you in the back. This was easy for Síle; since she was two she'd roamed alone, staying away from other equines at all cost. Her senses had developed wonderfully: her eyes were unnecessary because she could see wiyh her ears, her skin, her nose; they compensated quite well for her lack of sight.
Now, however, at five years of age, she found herself feeling hollow and empty. Many long nights she found herself meditating, semi-consciously. If she ever was to return to the old way of things, she would have to give life, love and friendship another chance; but was it worth the risk?
Clouds shrouded the starry sky, a golden-white moon gleaming intensely behind the thick mass migrating across the cool evening skies, drifting southward and a nothernly draft. The grass underhoof was louder than usual; the increasingly cooler temperature made it hard for the vegitation to thrive, though it still served as a suffiecient source of food. Food, however, was the last thing on Síle's mind, of course. The shelter of a nearby tree was sought, and she sunk into the darkened shadows with ease and grace as if she could tell where they were.
The inner most desires of her heart had won out against her wits, and here she was, in another new land, ready to give it all one more shot before she decided to throw the towell in for good.
S í l e
...just because I can't see
doesn't mean I can't live
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Post by r.andom on Aug 12, 2006 18:28:22 GMT -5
Passion is his, as is lust and other small feelings of curiosity and hate, desire and wonderment, and he watches this daily routine of life and limb, survival of the fittest with a dark eye and a sceptical mind, for he has no want to be what they do, he has no want to be labelled as different for he sees nought wrong with the typecast world. He has shaped the mould and they have come out of it and reformed themselves – and Ahmar cares not for such strange talents and fetishes to be different. The crimson stallion is in no way elaborate in his manner – he is rough and unrushed in actions and words, and they will get used to it or simply hate him for it.
He watches her out of the shadows, out of the trees dehydrated and sorely water deprived, and he sees the ebon’s beauteous and exertions with some form of amusement although the blood coloured stallion remains aloof and uncaring as of yet as he observes her with cold, beetle-black eyes filled with no emotion save that lingering curiosity. The trees sway in time as he moves; a gliding step filled once more with malice and deceit as he breaks his cover and heads toward her, snorting quietly as he draws up near parts his maw. ”Hello, poppet.” he pauses ”Your name…?”and he smirks, gaze once more tracing the line of her back as he awaits a reply. Contr. de justo una espejo de desastre. ooc ll I love her pic. Beka.
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Post by Beka on Aug 14, 2006 14:33:43 GMT -5
It was to be expected that a lame five year old wouldn't draw suitors to herself. In reality, she wasn't interested in suitors: just interested in a safe place to call home. The expanse of land that flowed out before her was hardly a suitable place to live; she would not flourish long in a place so full of variety without a corner of it to call her own. She lowered her boa, shaking it in frustration, before moving blindly forward, using her other senses to map out the unseen scape that unfolded beneath her hooves.
She would have much rather preffered the comforting darkness of the tree, but the sooner she got out in the open, the sooner she would be discovered; and the sooner she was discovered, the sooner she could leave this place and move onto a more private, serene atmosphere, free of cares and worries with someone to watch her back. Of course, those were all just a part of her fantasy in which everthing was perfect. If things really happened that way, she wouldn't be here in the first place. That bitter realization sank her spirits, but peaked her awareness of her surroundings, and just in time, it seemed.
A haunting feeling, like she was being stalked, filled her, and she felt her muscles tighten and tense involuntarily, her tail clamping tightly down upon her rump, even though she knew the time for breeding was in the past. The pain of the past had driven that from her, and now she was scared it might just happened again. The sound of someone else's breath made her spin about, and she knew there was someone there. She tried her best to relax, using her keen sense of smell, to tell what this creature was. The fact that it was an equine was only a small ammount of comfort; she knew this was a male, and a seemingly foul one by the smell of it. She let out a long, low snort, her breath creating a faint, silver sheen to the cool morning air. Her auditives caught the sound of his voice and the words he spoke, even though they were set back, lying flat atop her boa.
He reminded her of s serpent, lying coiled before her nose on the ground, his body swollen with the air of aggitation, his flat, arrow-shaped head swaying before her, ready to strike. She had the same instinct to flee, but knew that, in this case, it would be no good. He'd catch her easily, because though he was rank with evil, he seemed in good health. She took her time finding her voice, and when she spoke, it was soft and gentle, yet somewhat testy.
"My name; yes...Well, perhaps I should give it to you."
Here she paused, wincing unter the heat of his gaze: though she could not see it, she could feel the heat of his eyes upon her spine, tracing her figure. Another snort issues her flared nostrils, and though they were no good for seeing, a flame became apparent in her steely, unseeing gaze.
"However, I shall refrain untill I can know yours."
She fell back into silence, her eyes still fixed upon the moustrous figure (for that's how she invisioned him: huge and hulking), hoping he would not unravel the secret of her eyes. The fact that she was a gimp didn't worry her. He would make use of it, she was sure, but if he was to know that her eyes didn't work, they would loose all their use and leave her susceptible to another attack like the last one.
S í l e
...just because I can't see
doesn't mean I can't live
Thanks, random! =)
It was actually very little effort on my part.
(/OCC) |
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Post by r.andom on Aug 20, 2006 8:37:32 GMT -5
[ a l - a h m a r ] A bitter wind whistled quietly through the nearby trees, rustling the bare branches, causing them to scratch together. Other than the frigid breeze, the only sound audible to Ahmar's flickering lobes was the gentle inhale and exhale of the mare as she breathed. The wind bit against his pale coat, snatching at the long, tangled locks draping down his neck and ruffling the glossy mane. Despite the chill of winter, he far preferred it to spring. The still and quiet suited him better than the noisy squawking of returning birds. Not to mention the mud that caused a horse slip and slide his way along as he tried to walk. The heat however, did not particularly bother Ahmar.
Hazel occuli silently watching the mare, Al-Ahmar lounged easily in the bitter cold. The icy wind did not bother him, his thick, shaggy fur managing to keep the chill at bay. He quietly watched the broad, unfathomable thoughts churning behind his piercing optics. No, Ahmar was not a horse given much to talking. Of course, he was a trained warrior and so often found talking rather pointless. Ahmar was very adept at reading body language, watching other equines for the subtle clues often missed. So he was rather more inclined to glean his knowledge for the body rather than words, as words could be so easily masked. It was a thing Ahmar did often, choosing words that gave away so little personal information that it was pointless to try and find a hidden meaning. Of course, Ahmar also had a habit of masking movement as well.
"Well if you must it's Al-Ahmar, or Ahmar of Silver Creek."Contr. de justo una espejo de desastre. |
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Post by Beka on Aug 21, 2006 21:53:09 GMT -5
When movement was not seen, there was no need to mask it. Even without the use of her eyes, Síle could read others. How, she did not know-it was merely a very powerful instinct, or a inner eye of sorts that could help her read things without really reading them for herself. How she'd come to trust this instict, she didn't know; usually, she never really pondered that question, as she knew it would only lead to uncertainty, and that was something she simply would not stand for.
A dark, ristricting shadow began to grow about her body in the preasence of this hardened creature of the deep; she longed to draw away from him, but was too strong-willed to show such strength to one who was sure to feed on fear. Instead she stood her ground, her veiled eyes facing him, a stony mask planted firmly over her features.
"Well, then, since you offered yours, I suppose I am called to do likewise. I am Síle; just Síle-not fancy titles or what have you."
Why he went to such great lengths to explain his place of dominion, she did not know. Was it a common practice around here? These questions, she was sure, would remain unanswered, as well as unasked, for it seemed that this was the only equine that was going to dar to venture close to her.
S í l e
...just because I can't see
doesn't mean I can't live
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