Tar Pits
01-01-2018, 08:29 PM
If you'll be my star, I'll be your sky
You can hide underneath me and come out at night
You can hide underneath me and come out at night
Others may have been concerned about their own safety, attempting to lift such a large stallion off the sand, but the shaman never really thought of herself in that manner. She would not have even left the Fields if not ordered to sneak away by her parents.
The actual weight of Roscorro is not realized until she is pushing with all her might against his side, however. Her relatively dimunitive frame feels pathetically small now, but the grit and determination of her spirit wages against the physical frailty of her body. Mind over matter usually worked for the shaman, and there was no exception today. Against the odds, Roscorro raises to his feet and stands, albeit shakily, on his own.
A sigh of relief pulses past Taivas's mouth as she looks over his form with satisfaction.
Where to?
Taivas thinks back on her journey into the Tar Pits, and remembers dried but edible grass to the south, nearing the entrance to the Portal's forest. "South," she says firmly, walking slowly beside the weak and quaking behemoth she knew to be a friend. "There was some grass not covered by snow in the south of this land."
The further they drift from the warmth of the Tar Pits, the more crushing the chill of winter becomes. Taivas is thankful for the thick coat surrounding her frame, but worries about the failing strength of her companion and they forge out into the desolate sand, lighted by the afternoon sun but feeling little of its warmth. In the distance, tufts of yellow and pale green begin to stick out from the sands.
At least now they had a vision of their goal to push them forward to succeed.
The actual weight of Roscorro is not realized until she is pushing with all her might against his side, however. Her relatively dimunitive frame feels pathetically small now, but the grit and determination of her spirit wages against the physical frailty of her body. Mind over matter usually worked for the shaman, and there was no exception today. Against the odds, Roscorro raises to his feet and stands, albeit shakily, on his own.
A sigh of relief pulses past Taivas's mouth as she looks over his form with satisfaction.
Where to?
Taivas thinks back on her journey into the Tar Pits, and remembers dried but edible grass to the south, nearing the entrance to the Portal's forest. "South," she says firmly, walking slowly beside the weak and quaking behemoth she knew to be a friend. "There was some grass not covered by snow in the south of this land."
The further they drift from the warmth of the Tar Pits, the more crushing the chill of winter becomes. Taivas is thankful for the thick coat surrounding her frame, but worries about the failing strength of her companion and they forge out into the desolate sand, lighted by the afternoon sun but feeling little of its warmth. In the distance, tufts of yellow and pale green begin to stick out from the sands.
At least now they had a vision of their goal to push them forward to succeed.
When I turn jet black, and you show off your light
I live to let you shine
I live to let you shine
Taivas
