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salt in the wounds (like you're rubbing it in); salome||dark,rafexmadrid
Topic Started: May 26 2015, 04:36 PM (136 Views)
Magnanimous
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If desperation was a palpable thing, Salome imagines it would be thickest here. It's a good thing--she likes a little bit of neediness; it keeps things interesting. As cliché as she knows it makes her sound, Salome ever really imagined herself winding up in the Homeless grounds. Not because she thinks she's above the tried and true claiming method, or because she expected to find that perfect stallion by happenstance, or even spend her days tucked away safely in her father's home. More because she never saw herself seeking out a claimed. The idea of belonging to another doesn't sit easily in her stomach; Salome prides herself on being independent, but she supposes worse things have happened to better mares.

At five and a half, she's finally bored. Wanderlust wears off, the shiny appeal of seeing and doing lose luster fast. It's a harsh reality to be learned, and even now Salome is dealing with the less-than-glamorous reality. In her foalhood dreams, fever bright and rosy colored, she envisioned a future of eternal summer, of moving with the weather and never slowing down. And she managed, for a few years.. But things got hard, food got scarce; danger was around every corner. Strangers were suddenly less trusting and the world was far less open for a bright-eyed mare who preferred to seek her own way than commit to the life of a herd mare.

It's the next logical step; she toyed with seeking out Elia, but was entirely unsure of where to even begin. And so here she is.

It's the first days of winter, a chill in the air but still no snow on the ground. Everything is dead and brown, the earth renewed by Kestrel only to continue on to die in the tedious cycle of seasons. The nip in the air is apparently enough to drive other equines away; where the pretty mare has decided to stop is deserted. As far as she can see, out across the flat, rolling expanse of field, Salome is alone.


SALOME||RAFExMADRID|| WANDERING||DARK||SILVER BUCKSKIN SPLASH|| 5.5 YEARS
Edited by Magnanimous, May 26 2015, 05:58 PM.

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we are not things; those were her words!
salome | ishtar | piper| riesling | rani | anael | iscaie | silas | faolan | sven | nyss|

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devotchka
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WELL SWEET MOTHER TERESA ON THE HOOD OF A MERCEDES BENZ
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Lines © skater4life509.

WASP
' if i had a heart i could love you, if i had a voice i would sing '
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HE does not enjoy the homeless particularly. The grulla stallion is unsociable at best of times, so coming to a place entirely based on first impressions is not his idea of fun, particularly when there are other males to compete with. If Wasp could have this way, it would be a fight for the mare, for truly that was what is valued, in his eyes. Besides, it was by far his natural strength. Wasp is not a dim stallion, nor is he unattractive, he simply values these things less.

THE Stockhorse stallion trudges through the barren homeless, his distaste for the cold expressed in a mere roll of his thick shoulders. Living in the mountains all his life has made Wasp blasé to low temperatures, although this doesn’t mean to say he enjoys them anymore than the next equine. He has been here a handful of times, and each time he never comes really with a particular purpose. Naturally the main goal is to succeed in finding a mare, though Wasp does not necessarily have a certain ‘type’ per say. He’d like to say he is purely interested in a mare’s mind, and although this is a crucial element of what he looks for, it certainly is not everything.

HE proves his point when his tawny eyes gaze over the svelte form of a youngish looking mare, perhaps around the same age as he is. She is unusual in appearance, not unpleasant though, and Wasp is surprised to see that she is very alone – a rare sight in these parts. He does little more than snort to alert her of his presence, though travelling through an empty field would do the same thing, as he approaches her at a lazy jog.

HE stops near her, his breath unfurling in wisps as he lounges with one hindleg tilted, his hoof finding no relief on the rock hard ground. ‘Did you scare the others away or something?’ He says, studying her now she is closer, before parting with his wolfish grin.




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in these cages we call walls ~
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