She was running.
A spray of red-gold sand scattered in the wake of her hooves, glistening like tiny diamonds in the brilliant sunlight. She was cascading, slipping, sliding down the dunes in a slip of grey – and then she was rising up them again, muscular limbs tensed and bent beneath the heat of the sun and the dryness that hung thick and heavy in the wind. Her limber frame rippled beneath her sweat-streaked coat, though she was evidently unconcerned and unbothered by the suffocating heat. For the Mors, today was cool, and Seraphina was intent on covering as much ground as possible whilst on patrol before the sun rose any higher. Descending deeper into the featureless desert with nary a distinguishing landmark to be found, Seraphina was resigned to yet another monotonous day on patrol – if there were other equines caught in the massive sea of sand, they were elusive. ( “Or,” She thought to herself, rather grimly, “a sandwyrm’s already gotten them.”)
She rose above the crest of another towering dune, loose strands of her snow-white mane (though slightly yellowed with dust and sweat) clinging to her neck; Seraphina had learned that even such massive features, no less than thirty feet tall, could disappear within a day in the Mors. She navigated by wind and sky, instead, and despite her near-flawless sense of navigation nowadays, the young mare had gotten lost many a time in her youth. Eyeing the base of the dune, she started slightly as her gaze stumbled upon the shapes of not one but two other mares. One was a delicate, rosy creature, dappled with the dainty blush of dawn and in possession of a sweeping mane and tail; the other was larger and bulkier, though no less beautiful, with her mesh of stark black and gleaming gold and massive, inky wings. Seraphina recognized neither, and, as she began her steep descent of the dune, she realized that neither of them smelled of Solterra.
Well, well, well. Seemed as though she’d found a pair of trespassers. She paced towards them gingerly, muscles tensed in preparation – the cherry-colored mare didn’t exactly exude danger, but she imagined that there was some fight in the darker one. Seraphina fixed them both with an even stare, raising her chin in a hint of authority.
“You,” Her voice was rasping, dry with the heat, though nonetheless stubbornly drawling, “You smell of Dawn.” The dainty, dappled creature carried with her a familiar, suffocating sweetness. “Do you have permission to be in the lands of Solterra?” Seraphina’s gaze shifted to the ink-colored woman, then, eyes narrowing as they focused in on the familiar golden amulet on the mare’s chest. Solis? “And you…where do your loyalties lie?” Her scent was strange – a newcomer, perhaps.
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
