Yes the lake. My apparently preferred land for I spend all my time here it seems. But why would I not want to spend time here? The lake is peaceful and calming.. and when my soul is in turmoil it provides me with tranquility. I'm walking with a slight limp, my hindquarters bruised from my unplanned battle with Aislinn. Although I'd walked away almost perfectly intact, her last attack had knocked my rear out from under me, and now the muscles complained of the deep set ache.
Damaris tags along at my side, her concern mild. Don't you worry about me? I fish for a compliment, for affirmation that her love for me matches my love for her. Of course I do. She snaps at me in her mind and with her jaws, irritated that I would dare ask such a question. I smirk, and her returning growl can't wipe the grin from my face.
We continue in silence then until a voice carries on the wind, one that at this point I might recognize anywhere. Even if I didn't, my nickname and the affection in her words betray her identify immediately. It's Weir of course, the pale, antlered Dusk Court mare. The grin spreads wider on my face and I bound forward in a lumbering canter, pain throbbing through my awkward gait as I try to make my limbs go faster than they are willing. I wince but continue on through the stiffness and dull throbbing until I can see her clearly, not far away.
Do take care. Damaris chides me, trotting along behind and quickly catching up as I slow to a trot, then a walk. My limp becomes more pronounced as I've aggravated my body. "Weir, I'm so glad you came, I-- what on earth happened?!" My voice changes from boyish glee to concern as I see her body in sweat. "Are you ok? Are you being chased, are you ill?" I'd have never asked so many wuatjons of someone I did not care about. I was too aloof and stoic for that. But I like Weir (a lot) and I can't stop the worry from transforming into pressing questions. I reach my muzzle out toward her, nares flaring with alertness as I try to figure out what's caused the sheen on her body, the drip from her eyes, ears, nose, and belly.
WC: 396
Tag: @Reichenbach @Weir
Rosti thoughts | Rosti speech | Damaris mindspeak
Damaris tags along at my side, her concern mild. Don't you worry about me? I fish for a compliment, for affirmation that her love for me matches my love for her. Of course I do. She snaps at me in her mind and with her jaws, irritated that I would dare ask such a question. I smirk, and her returning growl can't wipe the grin from my face.
We continue in silence then until a voice carries on the wind, one that at this point I might recognize anywhere. Even if I didn't, my nickname and the affection in her words betray her identify immediately. It's Weir of course, the pale, antlered Dusk Court mare. The grin spreads wider on my face and I bound forward in a lumbering canter, pain throbbing through my awkward gait as I try to make my limbs go faster than they are willing. I wince but continue on through the stiffness and dull throbbing until I can see her clearly, not far away.
Do take care. Damaris chides me, trotting along behind and quickly catching up as I slow to a trot, then a walk. My limp becomes more pronounced as I've aggravated my body. "Weir, I'm so glad you came, I-- what on earth happened?!" My voice changes from boyish glee to concern as I see her body in sweat. "Are you ok? Are you being chased, are you ill?" I'd have never asked so many wuatjons of someone I did not care about. I was too aloof and stoic for that. But I like Weir (a lot) and I can't stop the worry from transforming into pressing questions. I reach my muzzle out toward her, nares flaring with alertness as I try to figure out what's caused the sheen on her body, the drip from her eyes, ears, nose, and belly.
Tag: @Reichenbach @Weir
Rosti thoughts | Rosti speech | Damaris mindspeak
Rostislav
more than a drunken fool
