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Home » Search » Roster » Whitepages » Records » FAQ » Guidebook
Pretty Little Things
Trial Ultima 
Eira
Currently championing: Reszo
#4
Eira...
Ultima was among the friendliest of all the destinations she’d discovered as her journey had progressed slowly through the Rift, both warm and tranquil, and the filly felt better almost immediately. Though her rash-eaten body ached and shivered and the harrow of anorexia dissolved her mind’s strength, a thoughtful smile rested comfortably against the sooty-blue pillow of her lips; she was light light-hearted soul, pure, uncontaminated by the throes of age and experience. With wearying eyes trained upon the small clusters she had found, and ears also angled down interestedly upon them, Eira did not immediately notice the sunken bulk of scale, feather and fur, until she was almost upon him.

“Roscorro!” her heart sang out with delight as her fumbling footsteps arrived her before him.

The tiny, sickly child’s skull lifted too quickly as her sparkling gaze dove boldly ahead to trace the strange line of his familiar, floor-bound figure sprawling like a soft rug back, behind him. One tiny chipped hoof lost traction there, upon the sandy cove’s floor (a shell perhaps, or a stone beneath), and bent knees failed to reconfigure their balance. With a startled gasp and panic rising through her wilting expression, Eira began to fall forward at a great rate of knots. The haggard-looking creature was unable to prevent the clumsy, accidental collision and with the wind heaving heavily from her chest, she hit the small workspace between his queer, hairless forelegs.

Almost as suddenly as she’d arrived upon him, the humiliated filly recoiled quickly backwards, staggering feebly until the sharp angle of her toneless thigh was pressed against the unforgiving face of Ultima’s veiny wall. With unhappiness rising swiftly through her core, Eira examined the damage her bumbling had caused him: the neat piles - stone, thin vine and shells - scattered rudely. Worst of all, however, the decorated cord containing an array of each that had draped between his teeth and the sand below, seemed now to be only half the length of before. Her frame sank to the earth, along with her withering spirit; she was so very sorry.  
"I am a book of snow,
a spacious hand, an open meadow,
a circle that waits,
I belong to the earth and its winter."

- Pablo Neruda, Winter Garden


Messages In This Thread
Pretty Little Things - by Roscorro - 03-16-2018, 08:55 PM
RE: Pretty Little Things - by Eira - 03-22-2018, 11:29 PM
RE: Pretty Little Things - by Roscorro - 03-24-2018, 06:28 PM
RE: Pretty Little Things - by Eira - 03-29-2018, 07:05 PM
RE: Pretty Little Things - by Roscorro - 04-15-2018, 11:09 PM
RE: Pretty Little Things - by Eira - 04-16-2018, 12:06 AM
RE: Pretty Little Things - by Roscorro - 04-16-2018, 12:51 AM
RE: Pretty Little Things - by Eira - 04-16-2018, 02:18 AM