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a castaway; for aeson
Topic Started: May 18 2014, 10:24 AM (329 Views)
devotchka
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WELL SWEET MOTHER TERESA ON THE HOOD OF A MERCEDES BENZ
VEXARE
' look inside, look past the guarded walls of me '
________________________________________________________


The death of her parents had affected her more than she first thought. Vexare has always been straight-forwards in these matters. Everything, and everyone, has to die. No one wants to believe it when it is your own kin. Her parents had always been so virtuous, so in love and kind to the world and everything in it. Her grandparents had also vanished, and so the creamy mare had left Border Springs with no friend in the world. Her mother had always spoken of her extensive family, however, she had never met any of them. If she knew who any of her aunts and uncles were, Vexare would have probably tried to find them. Ironically, these relatives would remain shadowy faces to her, and she must continue her life alone.

In the sunlight of the late afternoon that glimpses through the shards of foliage, her coat is almost white. The tobiano patches she was born with are more or less invisible, such is the shade of her perlino coat. She is considered beautiful, and for this reason Vexare has stayed far away from the likes of the homeless grounds. Her dam always spoke of them with such disdain, and also pride that she had never been sucked into them, and so the Warmblood hybrid has that same apprehension instilled in her. However, she hates the solitude more than anything, and knows this will someday be her fate. She has been skirting her way round Kormada, the passing lands becoming a blur, but she has to admit this one is beautiful. The scent of stallion is stronger in these woods than in other places, so she assumes it is claimed, and will continue to move through the forest, hopefully unseen.

The trees give way with no warning and the pale mare winces as she steps into the sunlight, covering her bright blue eyes with her lashes as they become accustomed to the sudden light. In front of her lie two huge towers, possibly one of the biggest monuments she has ever seen. The history of what came before the equids fascinates Vexare and she steps towards the ruins in fascination, although her tear shaped ears remain pricked and watchful of anything unsavoury. She makes her way closer, her legs climbing the slight hill they are placed upon until she is at the bottom, craning her delicate head back to see the top. ‘Whoah…’ She says, in barely a whisper to anyone else but herself.
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`d e p p
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I think everybody's nuts.
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and a larger version of the beautiful boy<3
___________________________________________________________________________________________ A E S O N
Let me out of this dream . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Having already completed trekking the borders of the Weeping Towers, I stand still now, located in
no particular part of my land. I linger at the fringes of the thick forest near the boundaries of my
domain, with my dark eyes looking beyond. There is little else that meets my gaze other than a
continuation of the forest, playing with their mottle shadows, bowing slightly at their tips with the
autumn breeze that dances through the cold air. Really, I’m not sure what I am looking at either—
perhaps I am looking for something. My mares are settled safely behind me, tucking themselves into
the heavy forest that dots a majority of this land, and so it not of them that my mind worries. At
least right now.

I repress a sigh, but the warmth of my breath escapes all the same, forming a plume of pale smoke
that writhes slowly from my dark nostrils. Long years have come and gone since I have seen her last,
my dearest sister, and hardly a day has come and gone that I have not thought of her. No, not
thought of—worried over. I refuse to reminisce about the times that we have shared together, of the
happiness that I had seen on her face when I had found her at last, and the relief I had felt to find
that she had found a kind stallion to settle with. I cannot reminisce of all that—doing so, for me,
would be an unconscious acknowledgement that she is gone; and I can’t do that, not yet.

Instead I have sought to find her, focusing on the events of her disappearance rather than the other
possibilities that haunt me. Papillion is the only member of my family (I use this term loosely) that I
care for. While Akita had been nothing but kind to me after my mother’s death, I never will look to
her as a mother, and feel little ties to her now. My father is an entirely different matter. Only a dark
shadow in my memory, I wish not to see him again; only that brightness has managed to blossom from
his darkness, in the form of siblings like Papillion, gives me any hope for my own future.

Pursing my lips and shaking my head, the length of my dark tail flicks sharply against my muscled flanks,
and I turn to walk away, angled in no specific direction. One day I will find my sister again, I have to. In the
meantime, I will look after my precious mares, care for them, and protect them with all that I can. It is only the
scent of a stranger that draws me from my heavy brooding, and thrusting the gloomy thoughts away, I lurch
forward to investigate. Whoever it is must have crossed over a section of the borders after I had already
covered it. My ears initially flatten in both alarm and determination to defend, but once I allow my head
to clear, I am able to distinguish the scent as a mare and not a stallion.

To say that this realization is a relief would be an understatement. Still, I follow the trail, which I know is
leading me to the two large hallmarks of this sacred territory. Sure enough, it is not too long before the trees
give way to a round clearing, all which surround the two ancient towers—and the stranger at their base. I
slow to a trot as I approach the pale mare, glowing softly beneath the tender grasp of Prime’s bright rays.
Coming up behind her, I slow further to a walk. “They are magnificent,” I say, glancing up to their primordial
stones before fixing the mare with a bemused expression, “aren’t they?” Halting just behind her at her side,
part of my brow rises in silent question, holding her for a moment before I speak again, “Can I help you?”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
‘I can't turn this around, I keep running into walls that I can't break down —
LET ME OUT OF THIS DREAM.’

zebroid hybrid stallion . rowan x siason . seven years old . seal bay w/striped legs . brown eyes . neutral . 16hh


Remember...if you feel glum, just shake your bum!
#EpicStrut

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devotchka
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WELL SWEET MOTHER TERESA ON THE HOOD OF A MERCEDES BENZ
VEXARE
' look inside, look past the guarded walls of me '
________________________________________________________


MOTHER would have loved it, is Vexare’s next reaction. She misses her dam like nothing else, she never imagined it would be this lonely. The grulla mare had always spoken about places she had travelled to throughout Kormada, alongside Vexare’s aunt, and there had always been an element of pride in her tone. Having wandered since the breakdown of the herd in Border Springs, the creamy mare can now appreciate how fulfilling this kind of life can be. However, she yearns for that same sense of community she felt with her family, and perhaps it is time to give up the chase and resign herself to looking for a new home. There was no conversation about how to approach a stallion and ask to join his herd, or be approached in fact. She is not naïve enough to realise that her parents met under rare circumstances that she is unlikely to reproduce. Vexare doesn’t even believe in love at first sight anyway, not for another equine anyway. This view on the other hand, is to die for.

THE breeze blows away from the perlino, dispensing her scent rather than the opposite, so when she hears the soft crunch of undergrowth beneath hoof, it is the first signal she has that someone else is here. Toffee stained ears flick backwards and her pale eyes dart to the side anxiously, desperately re-adjusting to the dark form that strides out from the treeline. He is strangely marked, bay in colour, yet markings ensnare his legs and mottle against his dark hide. Vexare has never seen anything quite like it. She remains silent as he strides up next to her, her legs slightly braced in case she needs to make a quick getaway. She has yet to have a bad encounter, but she is full aware that some equines would not take too kindly for a stranger to be wandering about on their land.

HE comments on the towers, and Vexare’s blue eyes follow his gaze up to their lofty peaks once more before she lowers her head to meet his eye contact. He looks almost amused to see her, which she cautiously takes a good sign. ‘Quite.’ She says softly. ‘It makes me question what kind of creature can manufacture something like this.’ Vexare wonders, mostly to herself, she doesn’t expect this stranger to have any answers. They could never fully know, only guess. She looks back to him, knowing she would have to leave soon, it would be best to apologise and slip away before his herd gets involved. ‘Not really. I’m not a rogue, just trying to put off a trip to homeless.’ She slips him a wry smile. ‘I was intrigued by these towers so on my way past I came to look at them. I can leave now, if you want.’ She says, quite amiably.
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______________________________________________________________________________________ A E S O N
Let me out of this dream . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Quite honestly, the pale-colored mare has a much better reaction to my appearance than I had
expected. I don’t really know what I had been expecting—shrinking back into the shadows,
frightened, aggressive, intrusive, rude—but none of the above seemed to fit her response. There
is a caution about her, understandably so, but I don’t sense any kind of fear or defensiveness
about her just yet.

However, seeing as this is my territory that she has stumbled in, I take into first consideration
the protection of my mares, and the threats that she may pose (indeed, I have seen more than
enough havoc caused by mares as well as stallions to know that both can be dangerous).

At the same time, I don’t mean to frighten her, so I settle back, my posture unobtrusive, while
still ready for action should the need suddenly arise. My ears flick forward as she answers my
somewhat wittily-phrased question. Her voice is soft, almost meek, but the words that are spoken
are far more thoughtful than any…naïve-minded individual would come up with. My dark gaze
wanders from her again to take in the massive glory of the ancient towers, silently asking them
the same questions of their mysterious origins—surely it is far past anything of my time, or my
grand-sire’s time at that.

We wonder in silent musings, neither having an answer, and both simply left playing with our own
imaginations. As the pale mare continues, I bring my gaze back to rest on her face. She is very
beautiful, I must admit, and so it is somewhat surprising that she is still in search of a home—surely
a jewel such as her would have been grounded by now? No doubt to be goggled at in the Homeless,
I pity her for a short moment, but manage not to get away with myself.

Still, a little taken back by her vague inquiry to leave, I flick my tail and give her a fleeting, bemused
grin. “I don’t blame you for delaying the Homeless—it is not a place I particularly enjoy myself, if I
must admit.”


A vague shrug rolls across my muscled shoulders, sure that I am far from the only one that harbors
such an opinion. “I don’t blame you either for being fascinated by these ancient towers,” I continue,
casting another brief glance upward, “I only wish there could be known more about them—what they
must have seen in their time! But I suppose it is the mystery that complements the attraction.”
My
dark lips pull upward into a silent chuckle as my gaze rests easily on the pretty pale mare, allowing a
breath to pass before I press on.

“Unless you bear ill will, I have no real intentions of chasing you off. Please, in the name of delaying
the Homeless, rest here if you desire,”
I give her an exaggerated inclination of my head (bordering
on a clumsy bow), matched with a hovering grin as I look back to her. “My name is Aeson.”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
‘I can't turn this around, I keep running into walls that I can't break down —
LET ME OUT OF THIS DREAM.’

zebroid hybrid stallion . rowan x siason . seven years old . seal bay w/striped legs . brown eyes . neutral . 16hh


Remember...if you feel glum, just shake your bum!
#EpicStrut

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devotchka
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WELL SWEET MOTHER TERESA ON THE HOOD OF A MERCEDES BENZ
VEXARE
' she needs new faces, she knows the high stakes '
________________________________________________________


IN all honesty, Vexare has experienced nothing in her life but kindness. She is fortunate enough to say she was bought up by two parents who loved each other dearly, and by their immediate family, or at least her father’s side. It is probably why they were taken away from her at such a tender young age, old enough to be independent, but still young enough to not know all the treacherous perils of the outside world. Fortunately, apart from a few dodgy meals and being chased out of a few lands by grumpy stallions, the perlino mare doesn’t think she’s done too badly, considering how much worse things could have been. She doesn’t like to think that she is innocent or even ignorant of how evil some equines can be, though she finds it hard to believe, which is perhaps why she does not run or shy away from the strange stallion.

THE dark stranger seems brooding, and Vexare wonders whether he is weighing up in his mind how much of a threat she may pose. She gets it, not all strangers are here with good intentions, and perhaps he has seen a wanderer do damage before. When his eye go back to the towers again so do hers, the pale irises expanding as she cranes her head up causing more sunlight to go into her eyes. Vexare wants to ask if they hold any kind of spiritual property, for she has heard rumours that certain landmarks and places throughout the land have some kind of supernatural plane that only few are aware of, but she does not want to make a fool of herself, and keeps her mouth shut.

THE decisions lie in his domain now, and there is nothing more for the Warmblood shaped mare to do now other than quietly muse about what he is going to do. He is certainly not a vocal character, perhaps because he is on guard, but he has not let anything slip. Her head drops back to a normal level, because the base of Vexare’s neck is beginning to ache, and she stares despondently at the decaying wall in front of them. There must be a better way to view the towers, possibly from a further away viewpoint where one’s muscles were stretched to look at them. Vexare only glances to her side when he speaks, one ear turning in his direction. At his words the young mare chuckles, she has yet to have the opportunity to see the homeless grounds everyone talks about it, and she is not looking forwards to the day that happens.

VEXARE'S interest is further piqued by this stallion as he wonders aloud about those towers. The blue eyed mare glances back to them and gives him a friendly smile. ‘We’ll never know, so I suppose you could make something up about them, something to impress future tourists.’ She says with a grin. Her head turns to face him as he offers her to stay, accompanied by a bow of his head, which she reciprocates. ‘Vexare.’ She offers her name in exchange, her mind quickly deliberating. Aeson seems pleasant, the land seems pleasant, and who cares if she doesn’t go to the homeless right away? After all, she might like it here better instead – if Aeson would let her stay of course.

'YOUR offer is very kind, and I will take you up on it.’ She pauses. ‘Rest assured I’m not here to destroy your herd or any other kind of tom-foolery. I’m not that kind of girl.’


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`d e p p
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I think everybody's nuts.
_________________________________________________________________________________ A E S O N
Let me out of this dream . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Compared to a lot of members of my family, most would consider me a fool. Sure, I can be
reclusive, distrusting, brooding, and all the other goodies that usually lace my bloodlines—
but I am different, and, therefore, foolish.

For example, if my father had happened across a wandering mare in his territory (especially
one as beautiful as the one standing before me), he likely would have either forced her to
stay as his prisoner, or chased her out of his borders if she refused—after taunting and
threatening her, of course. Any way you cut it, I am different than him, and the rest of them
(and not always for the better, mind you).

It is this fact about me that often tears me apart. Am I better or worse because of it? Am
I good, or am I bad? Usually, when it comes down to this, I don’t really identify myself as the
villain or the hero—I’m the guy on the sidelines, watching, waiting, and doing nothing.
Just… there. And to be perfectly honest, I like it that way, it’s where I’m mostly comfortable.
Again, unlike a large part of my heritage, I do not crave power, or the spotlight, or to be
tangled up in the mess of politics that so often plagues Kormada. Just leave me alone while
you all beat yourself up over nothing, I’ll just be happy left alone in my little corner.

Perhaps it is because of all this, that I find myself strangely drawn to the pale mare—Vexare,
as she has introduced herself. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that she’s a grumpy
hermit like myself. But, she does seem quite pleasant, honest, and with an innocence that is so
terribly hard to find nowadays. Nearly the opposite of my battered and banged-up self, really.

I want to…preserve this innocence, somehow, and shelter it from the darkness that surrounds
us (despite my own…inner darkness). That’s really what kept me in the Towers, after all—they
are quite sacred and pure themselves.

Of course, I don’t actually say any of this to Vexare because, let’s be honest—that’d just be weird.

Instead, I offer a rumbling chuckle at her words, tucking my head as I eye her. “What type
of girl are you, then? Obviously not too daunted by strangers,”
I observe, again noting her
innocence (a well-worn mare would have dashed off at the sight of me). She is a bright
creature indeed. “I’m not given to much tom-foolery myself,” I admit, shifting my weight,
“Much like the two towers, I have felt myself worn and weathered. Noble too, though,
right?”
One side of my brow rises as I question her somewhat playfully, not wanting to let
the conversation become too dreary. I’m good at that sometimes, getting people down.
It’s not the most honorable of talents.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
‘I can't turn this around, I keep running into walls that I can't break down —
LET ME OUT OF THIS DREAM.’

zebroid hybrid stallion . rowan x siason . seven years old . seal bay w/striped legs . brown eyes . neutral . 16hh


Remember...if you feel glum, just shake your bum!
#EpicStrut

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devotchka
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WELL SWEET MOTHER TERESA ON THE HOOD OF A MERCEDES BENZ
VEXARE
' she needs new faces, she knows the high stakes '
________________________________________________________


SHE waits for him to speak, her mind processing what she has just agreed to. Vexare often rushes into things before considering what this might mean for her first, and this is just one of these types of situations. It would not be the end of the world if she had to stay here, but she always thought that when she does settle down, it would be her choice. Then again, he didn’t exactly force her into this, after all, the bay striped male standing next to her did offer her to leave if she wanted. Still, as her blue eyes rest on his face as he pauses before he speaks, from the brief conversation they have had, she imagined she would meet something along his kind of lines anyway.

ALTHOUGH he was certainly handsome, and very unusual looking, looks never bothered her as much as they probably should. Both her parents had stressed that personality is what one will have to live with, that the mind is definitely over the matter. They had explained that as she is so unusual looking herself, lots of stallions would try and offer her a place in their homes. However, this kind of relaxed conversation is the kind of Vexare was envisioning. Her eyes widen, not in shock, but a mock surprise as she smiles at him. She likes his light-heartedness, it certainly makes a difference from the more dreary side of the world, especially since that’s all she seems to see nowadays.

'YOU need to do some growing first.’ She says playfully, chuckling slightly. ‘Considerably shorter, but noble, I suppose.’ She jokes back, shuffling her weight from side to side. ‘Well, if you don’t be open to strangers, how can you make friends?’ She says somewhat more seriously, turning her blue gaze onto Aeson. ‘That’s how I was bought up, at least.’ She says, offering the stallion a smile after she finishes speaking.



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and a larger version of the beautiful boy<3

A E S O N.

My pointed ears tilt forward as Vexare responds, returning with an equally spirited tone and an easy tease. The stiff line of my lips softens into a shadowing smile, and a deep rumble of a chuckle vibrates in the back of my throat as I shake my head. “Yes I have quite a bit of growing to do, I must say,” my dark gaze wanders momentarily from the pale mare to trace up—and up and up—to the top of the two hallowed towers, standing as two impossible examples for their humble paupers below. Yeah, like I could ever truly be as honorable, or as tall, as that. Still, I am grateful to Vexare and her willingness to entertain our silly little conversation.

Wordless gratitude (and perhaps a bit of admiration) deepen my easy grin when my eyes find her face again, the slight change of tone in her voice bringing my ears perking for a moment before twisting to the side. I don’t have much experience making friends.

Having been alone for the majority of my youth, I know the wariness of strangers and the dangers they may pose rather than their friendship. It is still something that I struggle with (obviously), and I really don’t see that changing anytime soon. Sometimes I wonder how I would have turned out if I had stayed in Bitter Lullen rather than running away—would I have turned out as caring and open as Akita and Papillion? Or as dark and cold as my father? Somehow the latter option always seems more likely, seeing as I have settled somewhere in the middle of the two nonetheless.

Flicking my black tail, I give a short breathless sigh (more of a weighted-shoulder-action) before I meet Vexare’s blue eyes. “You must have had a happy childhood—pardon my boldness for the assumption,” I add quickly, not wanting to be too presumptuous of her and her life. I offer her a fleeting smile, mildly embarrassed, shifting my weight before I continue. “Strangers are often a paradox for me—I don’t know whether to accept them or be suspicious of them. Depends on my mood, I suppose,” I bark a short chuckle, rolling my dark eyes at myself, “I guess you got lucky.”

My light smile returns as my gaze rests on the pale mare, meaning to tease her playfully…hoping that she doesn’t take it as creepy, now that I look back at it. Disgruntled, I purse my lips at the thought before shrugging it off, sure that Vexare will take it with a light heart.

I keep running into walls that I can't break down —
Let me out of this dream.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

ZEBROID HYBRID STALLION | THE WEEPING TOWERS | SEVEN YEARS OLD | SEAL BAY WITH BROWN EYES | NEUTRAL | 16HH
rowan x siason
Remember...if you feel glum, just shake your bum!
#EpicStrut

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devotchka
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WELL SWEET MOTHER TERESA ON THE HOOD OF A MERCEDES BENZ
VEXARE
' she needs new faces, she knows the high stakes '
________________________________________________________


VEXARE enjoys the stallion’s sense of humour, or rather, appreciates it. Equines this easy going are few and far in between, and forbid her that she would eventually settle to a stallion who needs to be serious all the time. She couldn’t imagine anything duller, her life has been moulded by the sound of laughter, and she wishes it to continue that way. Her pale eyes travel down the towers’ thick columns and back to the other equine. Had she been worldly in more of a social sense, the perlino would recognise his striped legs as work of Rowan’s, but she merely sees them as pretty decorations to his limbs. Anything to do with climbing the social ladder does not interest her anyways. Her pink lips widen into a smile as he chuckles, a delighted expression crossing over her youthful face. It has been many moons since she has laughed like this, and she rejoices in the feeling.

SHE has never had any connections with equines her own age, and although her parents were young when they met, there were still gaps between them. Her sire kept no other mares and his father, Vexare’s grandsire, only a few, all of whom were elderly. Perhaps this is why sometimes the pale mare comes across as quaint, or as if she is from a different time, but she is enjoying this new found friendship with Aeson; at least from her point of view, she considers him a new friend. She wonders whether this is what being in a true herd is like, being surrounded by one’s friends. Her ears remain locked onto the stallion next to her, curious as to what he has to say.

THE pale mare says nothing as the male speaks, her face shifting momentarily as he assumes she has grown up well, and she smiles at his hastily tacked on apology. It is true, her childhood has been happy, nurturing, and now bittersweet since everyone who helped make it that way has departed her life forever. Vexare turns away briefly, catching herself at the back of her throat. Now was not the time for sorrow, her parents would have wanted her to be free of grief, to not pine after them. She looks back to Aeson, who also seems to be battling inner emotions. She giggles at her given cue, of course she takes the jibe lightly. She cannot imagine the bay stallion to be dark and dangerous at all, but of course, everyone has their demons.

'I'LL thank the Gods later.’ She retorts with a smirk. ‘It’s a shame that there are those out there who have spoilt the good name of wanderers. I would call them rogues, but that would be deemed unfair, besides, I am no rogue. That life is not for me.’ She adds, fixing him with a fair expression, and a gentle smile to lace her words.



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A E S O N.

I watch the pale mare intently, gauging her reaction for fear that I have offended her with my thoughtless assumption. Sometimes I consider myself to be a rational and considerate individual, on the good days at least, but it seems as though I have not prided myself in that today. When Vexare turns her face away, I feel a distinct and heavy sinking in my gut. Great, now I’ve done it—I’ve insulted her. My dark lips purse into a displeased line as I scold myself inwardly. I am tempted to reach out to her, perhaps to comfort her in some way, but I’ve never been good with such things. So I leave her alone, standing there awkwardly and quite ashamed of myself.

However, Vexare seems to recover rather quickly, from whatever unease I had caused her, and responds appropriately to my playful teasing with a light chuckle. One of my fluted ears twists to the side in mild confusion, unsure whether her lightheartedness is genuine or forced, but a shadowing smile softens my dark lips either way. In any case, I comfort myself with the knowledge that I couldn’t have offended her too badly—at least from the brief encounter that we have had thus far, I take the pale mare as one to not forge emotions (something that I appreciate, even if I can be guilty myself at times).

Now it is my turn to offer a slight, rumbling chuckle when Vexare continues. Tossing my head lightly, ruffling the length of my odd mane, the casual smile lingers on my lips as my deep voice matches her soprano tones. “Believe it or not, I lived a Rogue life once,” I smirk at myself, the memories still clear of the long years spent in my self-isolation, “I wasn’t much of a wanderer, though—I kept mostly to myself, out of the way. It took me longer than most stallions to settle down and decide that herd life was for me, I guess.”

The muscles along my brawny shoulders roll in a likeness of a short shrug, shaking my head at myself and casting a brief glance around the surrounding territory. I have grown quite fond of The Weeping Towers since claiming it—whether it is the work of something sacred or not, this place is as close to a true home as any. More than I’ve ever had before, at least.

Suppressing a sound sigh, I flick the length of my black tail as my brown gaze returns to rest on the pretty pale mare. “What sort of life is for you, then?” I inquire of her, a touch of contemplation managing to flicker across my features. She had mentioned she was on her way to the Homeless (before I graciously…stopped her), so she must not be the wandering type. Pursing my lips again for a moment, I press forward again, pushing past the rationality that tells me to stop. “You could stay here, you know; longer than just a rest—if you’d like. If that sort of thing suits you,” I smirk, trying not to be embarrassed. Possibly-forever-delaying-the-Homeless is the sort of thing I’m after, but I won’t push it.

I keep running into walls that I can't break down —
Let me out of this dream.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

ZEBROID HYBRID STALLION | THE WEEPING TOWERS | SEVEN YEARS OLD | SEAL BAY WITH BROWN EYES | NEUTRAL | 16HH
rowan x siason
Remember...if you feel glum, just shake your bum!
#EpicStrut

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paper faces on parade;
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