Floating Key
08-06-2017, 11:53 PM
Taking a brief reprieve from her maritime frolicking, Lothíriel looks out over the endless blue expanse of the ocean, a gentle seabreeze threading its fingers through her flower-studded hair. Lilac and anemone and lilies cling to the fair strands, their many-colored petals fluttering in the wind. Although she was born in the shadow of a mountain, and her mother before her in a great forest, Lothíriel feels the call of brine beckoning to her blood. Generations of her forefathers had presided over some shore or another; first it was Cinnoru, father of unicorns, then Ignatius, then Nepdon. Her father's first breath had been taken on a beach—it was named the Moonlit Tides before it was destroyed by the hands of unmerciful gods, and it had housed countless unicorn. She sighs, looking upwards to her white-winged friend, studying the way light filtered through the fibers of his feathers. If the Great Sundering hadn't utterly destroyed her parents' birthplace, the Tides would have been her home too, but then again, if Helovia hadn't been destroyed, it would have been her children's home. Was there a curse cast on her line? Were they all doomed to roam the earth, homeless and crownless?
Thingol crows, dipping towards his girl; he wants to tell her something, but the link joining them together is precariously weak and he cannot communicate the words to her. The sound of something tearing into the waves snaps her attention to the shore; something with her same shades of lilac and silver and white barrels towards her. Florid eyes widen, exposing a neat circle of white around the iris.
Watch out!
"Hey—"
Then the world turns itself upside-down.
The heavy body collides with her own, sending her delicate form crashing gracelessly into the surf. She cries out, although her voice strangled by the gargle of seawater. Slender legs buckle and thrash against the force, although they can do nothing as she is dragged to the shore, prone and helpless as a child. Brine seems to encompass her entire world—it enters her mouth, her eyes, her nose, her ears. When the waves and the stranger deposit her unceremoniously onto the dry sand, Lothíriel reels onto her limbs as quickly as the forces of physics allow her to, all the while sputtering and coughing and cursing, ready for an attack. However, as soon as she clambers onto her feet, the girl tumbles backwards onto her side, dizzy with effort. Fear traces harsh lines on the planes of her face, as she sizes up her assailant—her dark ears flipping back and forth with uncertainty. He is not a bloodthirsty monster at all, she decides, but a striped stallion who looks just as winded as herself. When she realizes that he means no harm (probably), the nymphet's eyes narrow. "What is the meaning of this?" she snaps, sounding just as fearsome and menacing as a particularly mean puppy.
She clambers once more onto unsteady hooves, swaying a little as she attempts to summon her most imperial impression, though she falls short of regal due to the wet sand clinging to the silver of her body. Thingol alights onto her back, watching the banded stranger curiously. The lilac girl huffs, lion's tail snapping irritably against her dripping hind legs. "Is this how you greet guests in this godforsaken place?" She dares to move closer towards the stranger, pausing a length before him; even if he is planning on eating her, she will have her questions answered with some semblance of dignity.
Thingol crows, dipping towards his girl; he wants to tell her something, but the link joining them together is precariously weak and he cannot communicate the words to her. The sound of something tearing into the waves snaps her attention to the shore; something with her same shades of lilac and silver and white barrels towards her. Florid eyes widen, exposing a neat circle of white around the iris.
Watch out!
"Hey—"
Then the world turns itself upside-down.
The heavy body collides with her own, sending her delicate form crashing gracelessly into the surf. She cries out, although her voice strangled by the gargle of seawater. Slender legs buckle and thrash against the force, although they can do nothing as she is dragged to the shore, prone and helpless as a child. Brine seems to encompass her entire world—it enters her mouth, her eyes, her nose, her ears. When the waves and the stranger deposit her unceremoniously onto the dry sand, Lothíriel reels onto her limbs as quickly as the forces of physics allow her to, all the while sputtering and coughing and cursing, ready for an attack. However, as soon as she clambers onto her feet, the girl tumbles backwards onto her side, dizzy with effort. Fear traces harsh lines on the planes of her face, as she sizes up her assailant—her dark ears flipping back and forth with uncertainty. He is not a bloodthirsty monster at all, she decides, but a striped stallion who looks just as winded as herself. When she realizes that he means no harm (probably), the nymphet's eyes narrow. "What is the meaning of this?" she snaps, sounding just as fearsome and menacing as a particularly mean puppy.
She clambers once more onto unsteady hooves, swaying a little as she attempts to summon her most imperial impression, though she falls short of regal due to the wet sand clinging to the silver of her body. Thingol alights onto her back, watching the banded stranger curiously. The lilac girl huffs, lion's tail snapping irritably against her dripping hind legs. "Is this how you greet guests in this godforsaken place?" She dares to move closer towards the stranger, pausing a length before him; even if he is planning on eating her, she will have her questions answered with some semblance of dignity.
how the rose in your heart you hold
@Raistlyn
sorry for the wait!!
