s w a h i l i

There is enough of summer left, that the sun that warmed the cream, brown and ivory body was a soothing and familiar heat. It soaked into her bones, warming her through and through. Fall was certainly coming, it was noticeable in the way they night grew cooler, earlier, but for now, the young mare was happy for what ever heat she could get. Thankfully it wasn't yet yet late enough in the evening, nor in the fall of summer that had the evening too cool. There was enough light remaining to kiss the pelt, enough light for foals to play by, for elders to relax in. It was enough of a drawn out sunset to cast impossibly long shadows, more shades to dance through.

And it was in these shades that the lithe form moved, practically dancing from dark patch to dark patch as she hummed to her own beat, less from a need to hide; and more from a comfort in being able to be over looked, ignored. It was a familiar place to be - the one no one noticed. She wasn't noticed in her own home - her father forgetting about her existence more often than not - at least until she'd done something punishment worthy - or someone had inquired about her [she feared the day someone would inquire about her for marriage].

But at least out here among the streets, among the people, she found comforts - this was no truer than when she spent her time into the alley, spiriting away through the shadowed entrance, and as soon as she slipped in to the familiar winding back streets, she was emerging from the shadows to be herself among the populace of the forgotten and unknown. Familiar greets called out to her and she smiles playful at ragged street rat foals running around her limbs, and she tossed each a few coins as they pass, gently using her muzzle to pause the youngest briefly to press a package of bread into the foal's embrace before it skirted off to follow the rest of the hoodlems.

Only then did she veer towards the stall that the half blind crone ran, eyes grey with age - unseeing, but magic proving far more adept as the knitting needles worked in the air, a lovely lace pattern emerging, Yer out late, girl. The gruff voice that left the crone was disapproving, but Swahili merely giggled, twirling in amusement around the shawl, steps light and prancing, "It's alright, No one saw me sneak away from my chambers at the manor. I was sneaky, very sneaky. I don't think the guards even noticed, so my father won't find out. And besides, after being around stuck up, pampered princesses, I needed a bit of the freedom my mother's bloodlines demand I escape into. I hear there's supposed to be some energy around here soon?"

The crone snorted, Na' fer 'nother night, yer a day early, girl. Bonfire be out ju' beyon' the oasis, same a'lway. Sure ye'll fin' yer way tom'ra. The crone grumbled, and Swahili smiled before pressing a loaf of bread and a bag of fruit to the stall table before spinning away again, "See you later!" She called before heading deeper into the alley, gaze curious at all those around her, before startling at a familiar form against the wall.

A chimera pelt, much like her own, but in far flashier of a design and colors. The last time she had seen it was when the snake who wore those colors had dismissed her so abruptly at the Spring Festival. Swahili paused, eyes almost gold in the setting sun as she stares upon the odd mare, not sure if she should acknowledge her - or keep walking. She had been quick to dismiss Swa all those moons ago after all.

Finally though, Swahili approached with slow, measured steps, "Not sure I've seen you among the alleys before. Passing ships, perhaps." The desert rose commented, her tone light, casual, neutral. But her gaze was cautious, watching for any movement that could be an attack. She just didn't know what to make of the vipress, after all.


"Speech"
Thoughts
@Fever
Notes: :D