[o] i'm well aware of how it aches

[Deleted]

merrick

you are one of god's mistakes,

you crying, tragic waste of skin,

i'm well aware of how it aches

Dawn in spring. The navy dome of speckled winking stars overhead begins to churn with a golden density that seeps through the darkness, snuffing the pinpricks of those ancient lights with a practiced killer's slow creep toward the inevitable. It is in this hour the <i>shadows<i> seem their most heavy with their backdrop of encroaching daylight, and there is a grave stillness that hangs tense while the world shifts into a state of mass awakening--the very last of those who tread night slip away as a male rock doves begin their mournful cooing. Frost creeps across the wheat-colored meadow grasses and turns soft moss into dazzling beds of emerald glass, as the celestial crown of molten gold peeks over the horizon with a timelessly. Shards of light spread like warm honey through echinaceas, crested dog's tail, and sweet vernal--a sturdy gust of wind is there to greet it, making the tops of trees shiver in golden delight. 

In the forest, only remnants of salmon-pink can be glimpsed between the breeze-roiling canopy as dark leaves twist and sway together in a susurrus dance of esoteric whispers--the secrets of the fae, spoken by the elements. A Stygian finality still settles comfortably here among elephantine trunks and the hideous spider-sprawl of Devonian fern, stealing but a few minutes of continued existence. And yet the light that disturbs it is not the Sun, but a blazing comet that tears past the gnarled fingers of budding branches that hungrily scrape at the whirlwind inferno as it conquers, destroys, the gloom with flame and motion and life. Silent as a phantom this unrestrained phenomena, save the steady drum rhythm like the cadence of warsong from glittering black hooves striking the earth with a rapacious disregard. Steamy breath billows around the creature, pouring like substance from mouth and nose in the cool dewy air as a vaporous acrid dragon-smoke, timed to the exercise in bursts of pants and snorts. Raw power propels a lean, masculine form forward as it weaves effortlessly despite the intensity and speed in which it utilizes. A sleek, shining coat of blood and brick and hell shudders and twitches as muscles flex and bulge beneath, graceful as liquid but solid steel in purpose and presence. A flock of startled birds fling themselves into the sky in a cloud of panic, squawking their displeasure--only a boisterous, boyish but throaty laugh ripped from the galloping stallion is offered by way of apology as he bursts through the treeline and into the birth of a new day. Lured by its promise, an upstart seeking to consume the bounty that Tathra offers...

Immediately he braces himself and skids to a halt, sending a spray of pebbled dirt out from under his feet. With a keen urge to paw at the ground given into and a toss of his sculpted Moorish head, and a sharp whinny to accompany the gesture, wavy cinnamon-ginger locks only a shade darker than the now sun-soaked cherry-chestnut of his body toss about with careless abandon before he settles in place. His excitement and energy now contained in a statuesque stance, quivering with the exertion of prior, tail cocked in royal confidence. Dust covers his thick legs and sweat stains rivulets down his powerful neck and chest, the barrel of his ribcage working like bellows to bring his stasis into alignment. He cuts an imposing figure--not particularly too <i>anything</i>, he has found a middling space in which to tap into, plucking strength and speed like ripe berries alongside stamina and grace; happily trading in messy hands too committed in their plunder for clean, focused precision and adeptness. If a word could be attributed to his brand of virility, <i>pantherine</i> would do--for even in the drama of his hearty run, he captures the facile presence of a predator in both appointed bearing and function. His silhouette wild and unkempt as his mustang heritage, trimmed with a Norman Cob's heft and a Berber's stately and handsome presentation--he is living art in clean lines, chiseled valleys, smooth planes, and impeccable curves.

Eyes, their color of green found only in Caribbean seas or jade buried in Siam temple ruins, cast their smoldering gaze about, hawkish in their scrutiny, roving over the clearing with investigative detail. Something in the distance makes him pause and snares his attention with prickly unyielding thorns, for he is on the move again, his pace more lumbering, riveted.

[WHIPSTER.]

I'LL TELL YOU MY SINS,
AND YOU CAN SHARPEN YOUR KNIFE

She carefully steps into the light as shadows stop, forest breaking into grassland and opening up. Her lupine eyes squint, dark lashes shielding her precious gemstone gaze. Nymphera had not planned on coming here, but she was suddenly spooked by the urge to adventure. From her thicket she ran, quick as a bunny, a blur of sapphire against the dense forest backdrop. Her heart was forever racing, she could hear it in her ear as she passed the time of travel with songs from her mother. Even though it has been long now, she is still always thinking about that day. It's the look of panic and pain that her mother had given her in her final moments, and the peace afterward. It's the lingering ache that her scars got every so often, though they had long since healed. And here was as good a place as any to simply get lost in thought. It made her so much like her family before her: Lyrical, intelligent ... Always, constantly day-dreaming and wanting more for her life. She wished quite often that she would be able to someday feel alive again, to fill the void that made up her chest.

She hardly remembers what it's like to feel normal. To not fear everything and every one that passes your eye; never ending insecurity and depression, always accompanied with anxiety, like rum and a good cigar. Nymphera remembers her mother describing her own deep, dark depression just before she figured out she was pregnant. Pills chased with expensive hard liquor and tears. So far she has avoided it. Even in her darkest moments, she does not mistreat herself or her body. It's already seen its worst, she would not damage it further.

The darkness of her mind makes her inwardly cringe, dipped head lifting to even her lupine eyes with the horizons. Softly, as a breeze passed her ears, she could feel the air as it changes, suddenly caught between immense, crippling anxiety and an odd rush of curiosity. Right now, the blue skin girl questions herself ( it's usual for her, she never trusts her heart ) because she cannot tell what lies ahead. It's most likely another equine, but how could she be sure until she is closer? So she makes the decision to press forth, and it is almost completely against her nature. Nymphera is a creature of flight, bound by bad memories, and ever since has anyone she's met been an immediate threat. She overreacts. This is, again, usual.

Her pace is slow as she approaches the second clearing, and she can tell that it is a bigger proximity. More room to breathe. For a few seconds she is not so worried about the what ifs — not until she reaches the point where her eyes can set evenly on the mans body, both handsome and strong, from across some one hundred feet. The sapphire girl feels fear setting ablaze in her throat, and she can't breathe, but it is far too late for her to turn away now. In her awkward state of looking, he's probably noticed her. His attention was already sparked, he had just been waiting for focus points. Nymphera moves forward again, masking herself in a fake confidence, but her amber eyes are screaming out of fear because this is a man. He's a fine young stallion, but he is bigger, maybe stronger, and she is meek. The girl clears her throat, legs shaking just slight, she keeps composed long enough to talk. Her voice is very soft, it is like a breeze passing your ear. “It's just me,” Nymphera murmurs, and she surprised to actually hear her own voice. “I'm very sorry if I concerned you, any.” Her ears flicker back, gaze turning toward his hooves shyly.

@miya

[WHIPSTER.]

bump! @miya