07-20-2018, 04:46 AM
It intrigued her. The concept of safety in numbers (especially, here, in the Rift), had good merit, she was no fool to deny, and perhaps there was some degree of wellbeing to be found in the company of others, yet the draper could not bring herself to commit to any cause; even one that had been blessed by divinity. Rumour about Hope’s return had spread far and wide through the Rift, so too had the legend of two stallions who the favoured goddess had entrusted to lead the cursed world’s first herd. On more than one occasion the young mare had found herself drawn to them, pulled perhaps by a growing longing for stability, and again, in the heart of Freeze, she slipped from the cold Western Mists once more to find aid in their midst. The spires of the old, ruined Halyven city, stood like bright, black beacons against the white-grey of the pregnant clouds lathered across the horizon. It was towards them she flew, leaving her friend Eleos in the small webbed sanctuary down on the Summit’s timbered slopes, holding onto hope that perhaps Rixen and Roscorro might accept an offer to trade. Zahra had been cursed nearly one month before, wishing to further her magical arts, in return for new tasks. She had been able to avoid the murderous skeleton and its hungry blade thus far, but fear within her had grown beyond her capacity to control, and the painted mare needed both help and protection (if only briefly to regather herself), from Hope’s herd. It was mid-morning when her weary legs extended forward to alight neat hooves upon the hard clay of outer Halyven. Though exhaustion gnawed at her senses and hunger soured her mood, the daughter of the Gallant swept along the main thoroughfare with remarkable vigour, keen to find their ivory gate before pausing to take rest. When at last she came upon it, Zahra paused respectfully, waiting for a patrol to pass her by. |