Lost and Lovedrunk
Classic Champagne Leopard Blanket Knabstrupper sport horse
Potential show jumper with great lines, and pretty to boot
Royal IntrusionsYear 760 of the New Age, FallRoyal Intrusions by nightxfel
Featuring Svetlikin and Aarushi
The hefty doe had been busily at work all morning. Her forelegs were slathered in muck and grime, covering some of her scarring, while her nose and cheeks were smudged with the dust and pollen of the plants she had been attending to. Although fall had come, and with it the leaves had fallen, Aarushi felt more at peace with her plants than worrying about the trials of rut and royals. Carefully touching her nose to the spearmint plant, knowing many does would be seeking it this season- plus she enjoyed chewing on the leaves every so often herself. The silvery down that covered the leaves tickled at her nose, bringing a small smile to her face at the health of her little herb garden.
Plucking a little leaf to chew on, encouraging clarity of her mind in this time filled with idiotic demands. Lifting her muzzle towards the sky, and looking up at the cloud streaked expanse of blue visible
Between Heartbeats and RaindropsFeaturing Lineera & BerserkirBetween Heartbeats and Raindrops by Howl-n-Hart
Spring, Y760 NA
Location: Somewhere deep in the caves of Oakfern
As she lay in the cold dark of the caves, Lineera was calm and still. She had no reason to be distressed, no reason to panic or fear or worry; he was here. She lay curled about him, his little dun body soft and warm, and she felt his heartbeat with her magic and she told herself she was calm.
The dripping of water from stalactites and the shuffling noises of burrowing owls were nothing to leap at; the soft clicking of shamans’ hooves on the stony floor was not the approach of Oathbreakers and the soft flush of a pale blue light against the wall was not her little love, not her La’Neiya returning…
The pale shaman turned her great green eyes bac
The Game We Royals PlayLord Ciardair and Princess MyrnaThe Game We Royals Play by bovidaeloony
Her own betrothal having been announced the season before, Myrna eagerly awaited news of the fate of the other princesses who found themselves without a mate that year whether by age or the death of their previous betrothed. Most eagerly she awaited news of the betrothal of Blossom.
Giving Myrna to a stag was an insult. She didn’t kid herself about that. Svetlikin was on the outs with the King and the royals and as such he got stuck with her. But Blossom? Blossom was a double edged sword. She was chubby and tan rather than creamy, and thus the least desirable of the proper princesses. However, she was still a proper princess of good breeding who could behave herself. Thus, she would only go to a stag who deserved a proper princess. She would go to a stag who deserved a proper princess… but not the bes
As he looked out across the hollow - Gumtree Hollow, how strange to be standing here! - he saw fawns scampering untended and old Stormbringers listening for voice of the wind. He saw fillies sparring together, practicing to become as great as the old General Etain and new recruits wincing as the older soldiers cropped away their manes with rough obsidian blades. He saw Illyrica, shy with strangers, playing exuberantly with her young friends, and he saw her mother standing watching, a smile on her face... but anxiety was still written on Roxanne’s body, and the flickering light in her eyes was ever touched with fear.
How he now regretted his obeisance to the wind; how he wished he could take Roxanne and Illyrica away from this, protect them in some secluded place and grow a family with them, the family he had never known he had wanted until he had seen mother and daughter reunited. He wanted that joy for both of them every day and he knew he could not give it to them; not here. Not the way that he had become.
Roxanne had given herself to him out of duty, he knew. He had asked the Cape does to grant them the boon of children, and she had given herself. She did not love him; just as the fickle lost love of his youth had not loved him. He had promised both so much and given so little; he could not protect Roxanne’s daughter, that most precious to her, just as he could not win the fight for the golden doe. Back then, when he was a mere child, the wind had hounded him from his herd and chased him towards a fate: this fate, this power, this great heartsick yearning for that which was not his.
The wind could not chase him now. He had sworn to its terms, but it had sworn to his: it could not refuse his command. And yet, and yet… there was no subtlety to the response it gave. If he wished to be heard his voice was a roaring gale; if he summoned a cooling breeze he was given a raw, bone-chilling wind. There were to be no soothing zephyrs easing his pains; there was only the storm.
He was to lead these people now: the fawns, the Stormbringers, the fillies, the recruits; all eyes looked to his stormclad form. The power the storm had granted him - no, the power the storm had won from him - was all they saw and the power that he desired, the power to make her love him, the power to bring her blossoms on the breeze… that was as nothing to each and every one of them who played and loved and were happy together.
Everything had changed, and at once, nothing changed at all.