I Seem to Have Misplaced My Yearling, Again

The sound of the waves beyond their cliff-side position was soothing, constant, and it served to compliment the low rumbling tone of the unfamiliar stallion’s gentle voice - even while his formidable silhouette begged for a more fearful reaction. Her eyes, quiet and meditative, were drawn hither by the reassuring words, and they danced with budding curiosity between his own deep, moody-grey gaze; they had something in common, as much as it surprised her, but she felt above it all a growing sense of ease. She nodded quickly at the suggestion that they should search together (his company would no doubt deter the nocturnal-type dangers she hoped to escape), and in thought she replied, “Eira.” It had been a long while since the sickly blue horse had felt so empowered, even despite the growing twilight and the tide which inched closer with every frothing crash. Searching was something she’d become rather expert at, trawling through forests and fields, skirting seas and scaling mountains (though the latter had taken a month's worth of toil), and at once there seemed to grow about her a pluckier, bolder vibe. Though she knew not who it was that Roscorro sought, really, she dipped her trembling lips to scent the salty, soggy sand. She was eager to help him, to maybe win his alliance and end months of isolation; though the sweet-natured colt had indeed touched her heart too. There was no trace of another beside the potent flavour that belonged to each of them, and feeling pressured, a little dismayed too, she stepped away between the rocks to track further afield; while now she felt content and comfortable, with no driving need to seek shelter, Eira wandered in the direction of the caves (for there had been no trace of another, along the way down from the rainforest). Here and there her earnest, dull blue eyes sought backwards to find the larger, and as long as he was there, her studious endeavour continued.

Lines | Colouring