` hold together [open]

[L Y N X !]

It was true, everyone was a little bit insane. But more so than others. Was she insane? Perhaps not, but how would she know? Ever since the insident with the Züden and her son, it was obvious she wasn't the same as she used to be. Traumatized? Perhaps. The mere prospect of losing her Erik was unbareable, and yet it had come close to it because of her stupidity. They had barely escaped with their lives but with a price; both of their complexions were marred by blistering burn scars. She was only comforted by the fact that he possibly might have had his life spared by her nosiness, providing a distraction from the demons enough to allow both of them to escape. But since then, she hadn't spoken to him. She was sure that he hated her, why though? Did he not want to live? Lynx knew that he never had true effections for her or Masquerade, but Chrissy he adored. How could he imagine leaving his sister?

Nevertheless, the mare needed a break from her own haunted mind. The forests of Cascata always calmed her and brought her to center, and it was close to her old home, Liberta. She at one point considered going back to Lassan, but she had chosen to follow after Masquerade. She thought that she could change him for the better. He was so bitter and angry, and unlike his former lusty playboyish self. He had shown a glimer of kindness by taking her away from the horrors of Aro's land and their demented spawn, and thats when she knew that he would be worth the effort. And he was; could she imagine herself with anyone else? She and Lassan had created Taren out of lust rather than love, but they both loved him anyway. It was nice to get lost in her own memories, as long as she didn't guide her mind toward her stay with Aro. It was a bit too awful to think about when one was trying to think about brighter days.

It was among new comfort that the bleak winter had passed, and the blossoms of spring had bloomed all around them in a matter of weeks. The scents of fresh grass and flowers filled her nostrils at every sweet breath. Ah, the ecstacy of being alive. The chestnut arab strolled casually through the willows, their long branches brushing against each other like arms reaching out to caress. The ground squelched at each step she took, flooded with the melted snowwater from the great thaw. A soft nicker rose from her throat, green irises peering through her forelock to spy anyone nearby.

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[Rigs]

Evander

The comfortable forests were always home to the mares and their foals—a safe haven, if you will. But a stallion entered with his head tossing softly at every bother beat in his trot. Evander had a song in his head. It was the watery music that the humans listened to, nothing like the gentle birdsong or a murmur of the river. Sure he had his scars, but nothing served as a greater relic of his role as a pet than the songs he heard in his head. He didn’t care what he looked like to others; let them think that he was crazy. In a way, he was.

He wore a constant cocky, but also nonchalant, expression on his white face. His blue eyes were pale, and his fair head contrasted starkly against his dark bay coat and black mane and tail. His legs were white past his knees and hocks. The effect such markings gave in the cool shade of the forest was that the movements of his legs were highlighted, noticeable, almost glowing—for his brown coat obscured his silhouette in the forest. And he moved freely in the way rangers do: with the purpose of no purpose.

The lone stallion had entered a place meant to be reserved for the ultimate example of innocent victims: widows and orphans. But perhaps he was close enough. The sunlight shattered until it was mere dapples on the ground and dapples playing on his dark brown back. The forest grew dimmer the deeper he went. It also grew wetter. And soon, the ground slurped mud on his hooves with every step and he slowed his showy trot until it shifted into a walk. It wasn’t long before he spied an Arabian mare. She had a chestnut hide.

“Now, what have we here,” he said in a drawl. His mother spoke in the same way, and the gelding on the farm did, too. Generations of horses that drew out their words and made them sweet and long. “Purdy li’l thing,” he said, turning his head to one side to view her fully with his right eye, measuring her. He noted her burns, but also the fact that she seemed to have been watching herself. It seemed that he hadn’t snuck up on her. “Right smart, too; watchin’ yerself. Cain’t be none too careful ‘round these parts, I s’pose.” There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

[L Y N X !]

It didn't take too long before she heard the sound of a different set of hooves in the mud, and soon after it a bay stallion appeared out from the midst of the willows' long branches. Lynx came to a bouncing stop, her ears pricking, but her eyes remained guarded as she studied the stallion from the distance. Her green eyes appraised him as he spoke, and the accented way he spoke reminded her of a time long ago, before she had come to the island. Did she remember the mainland at all? It was hard to pinpoint where the stallion had come from, but it was safe to assume just not from here.

She was frankly surprised not to see a look of revulsion or shock on his facade when his eyes slipped over her burns. When she had first recieved them, most turned their faces away, as if the same fate would come upon them. They would be lucky if they did, most didn't escape with their lives. Her eyes narrowed as she continued to gaze upon him, for now holding her tongue as he spoke, still measuring the situation. Normally darker horses didn't roam this part of Isola, as lighter horses didn't roam the lands of Scure. But there could always be an exception. "Indeed," she replied stiffly, shaking her forelock off the right side of her face, watching him now with both eyes. She had learned to get used to the confusion of the mixture between color and colorblindness, due to the flames that had washed over that side of her face. The vibrance of the world in contrast to her other sight was dizzying at times, but that was what she got for being so vain in her younger days, eh?

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[Rigs]

Evander lived life with a no-care attitude. It was the only thing that was true to his nature in how he behaved nowadays. Inside, he was a thoughtful and very steady horse of sound breeding and good sense—in other words, the right sort of horse for riding. However, he chose loneliness now over herdlife. He had been through too much that it was hard for him to fully trust others and, as a defense mechanism, he put on a show: the horse that was freer than the wind, free from all inhibitions of those silly things like etiquette and fear. He played the part so well, that sometimes, he could convince himself that this horse was really who he was.

From Lynx, he did not turn away because he was starved of equine contact. He didn’t cringe at the scars on half of her face because he simply didn’t care about them much. And he didn’t ask about them either because he didn’t like to listen to a sad or hard story. There was no point, in his mind, to be dwelling in yesterdays. There was no point either to waste the present for the sake of the future. No, he was a stallion who lived in the moment, the current moment: A stallion of good intentions and no shame.

“Y’know what I done the other day?” A proud grin lit up Evander’s face. “I walked myself along the river nearby, and decided it would be right fun to play in the area, you know, where the river gets more rapid at the lip of the falls. The current was a pressure on my side and it picked me up; well, I lost my footin’ I ‘spose is the more correct terminology. Then, all a sudden, I was knocked off the falls and slid down with the waters. It’s a small waterfall, yeah, but it was real fun. So after I found out how to stand up again, I up and did it again.” He picked up a knee that he revealed was bruised, “Almost broke my leg at the knee, but I just got knocked around.” He laughed.

[L Y N X !]

There was a point in time that the horse she was now would laugh at the horse she was then. How naive she was, dreadfully curious of everything around her. Of course, 'she' had admirable qualities, self-sacrifice and kindness run rampant. But she had changed. Life happens, and you are expected to adapt to it. If she had remained the way she was, she would most likely still be with Aro's wretched herd, giving up her own happiness to raise the son that was forced upon her, as if she could direct him into a better path despite the evil influence all around him. People change and adapt to life, gaining knowledge to their advantage and losing bits and pieces that had proved worthless in the whole game.

Evander seemed like he hadn't suffered. He had an air of cockiness, and didn't seem to particularly think about what he was saying before it rolled off of his tongue. The arabian was taken off guard as he launched into a story, talking about slipping down a small waterfall. Her green eyes blinked in slight surprise, but his laughter caught off as contagious, and Lynx found herself laughing softly along with him. Well, I'm glad you didn't get hurt," she said with another chuckle, voice harboring amusement, all previous tension in her released. It seemed that his company was going to be a nice meeting, much to her delight.

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ooc: eek, I fail at speedy replies lately. >>

[Rigs]

Evander tossed his head a little as he proudly straightened himself out so that he stood at a confident posture. His ears were pricked as well and his tail flicked like a flame. The bay splashed white stallion nodded his head and said, “Hey, I’m either gon’be dead or safe. There ain’t no in between with me.” He had a cocky look on his face, a bright twinkle in his eye. Most of all, his expression was open, friendly. “Say, gal; you know, you got these right pretty eyes.” And there it was. He had fit himself nicely in that role: the debonair hick—if ever there were such a thing.

He sauntered up to the scarred female. Her long face was halfway eaten by a burn and it affected more than looks—it also affected her eyesight. But Evander was a stallion full of love. There was no boundaries in terms of physical condition, gender, age, and really, if he was desperate, even species. What was she but another soul to love? However, like his fake personality, his passion and lust was merely a feeble whimper of the yearning of companionship. He had learned much from his life thus far, but had learned as well, to crave the company of another soul. Oh, he wore his mask so well: a grin that asked if Lynx wanted a little fun.

[L Y N X !]

Lynx watched the stallion with an amused gaze, the ghost of a smile still lingering on her maw. She hadn't met a horse quite like him before, and she decided she liked his care-free, cocky attitude. It made her realize how up-tight and reserved she had been over the past few weeks, hiding the playful horse she used to behind a curtain of self-doubt. The realization made her smile stretch a little wider, her posture one of complete at-ease, resting one of her hooves on its tip in the ground. "As long as you don't cross the line," she warned lightly, giving a brief look of concern for her acquaintance's safety.

Her green eyes blinked, taken off guard by this stallion again as he complimented her eyes. She calculated quickly, eyes searching, unsure if the situation was going to escalate. She tried to remain nonchalant, straightening out her bodice, but not at the point it would seem her barriers were up again. "So I've been told," she replied, eyes scrutinizing him as he stepped toward her. Her tail gave a harsh, whipping lash to the air, her expression changing from amusement to qualm, unsure now of this seemingly random stallion. But the tension in her body language made it clear: funny business wouldn't be tolerated.

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