Post by Cantaro on Apr 16, 2009 2:20:02 GMT -2
C A E D O
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this animal I have become
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this animal I have become
The pale form seemed to float across the rubble, ebony daggers decending onto solid bricks and earth. Never a wrong placement, never a falter. The stag's roughly chiseled cranium was lowered, widened nares sending petite clouds of dust flying in a ghost curtain. His cold black eyes were shrouded by a long forelock that hung down to his gullet, intertwining with black-tipped auds that laid close to his poll.
The tall mass of his barrel was moving without a thought to the danger of the loose bricks above. Caedo breathed danger. It was the only constant source of a buzz that kept life from being simply not worth the boredom.
Arching his tail, allowing the silver streamers to fall well behind his hocks, the stag put energy into his step, legs moving in the diagonal of a jog, hesitating in midair before landing with a light noise and pushing him forward.
The steed's striking cranium was raised, silken forelock lofting back, and the eerily dark orbs were assessing the land. The shelter was safe enough, and the grass plentiful. The sight brought a ivory-filled grin.
Neck arched dramatically at the crest, Caedo's front elbows bent swiftly, legs folding as he rose into an erect stance. His maw opened and he screamed out a claim, daggers flailing in emphasis.
Upon touchdown, the stud's fetlock bent under the weight of his muscle and bone. He chuckled softly, and sauntered toward a crumbling platform, where he lifted himself up to stand upon it, peering out over his land. Yes, his land.
And if blood should be spilled above its grasses....
Then so be it.
The tall mass of his barrel was moving without a thought to the danger of the loose bricks above. Caedo breathed danger. It was the only constant source of a buzz that kept life from being simply not worth the boredom.
Arching his tail, allowing the silver streamers to fall well behind his hocks, the stag put energy into his step, legs moving in the diagonal of a jog, hesitating in midair before landing with a light noise and pushing him forward.
The steed's striking cranium was raised, silken forelock lofting back, and the eerily dark orbs were assessing the land. The shelter was safe enough, and the grass plentiful. The sight brought a ivory-filled grin.
Neck arched dramatically at the crest, Caedo's front elbows bent swiftly, legs folding as he rose into an erect stance. His maw opened and he screamed out a claim, daggers flailing in emphasis.
Upon touchdown, the stud's fetlock bent under the weight of his muscle and bone. He chuckled softly, and sauntered toward a crumbling platform, where he lifted himself up to stand upon it, peering out over his land. Yes, his land.
And if blood should be spilled above its grasses....
Then so be it.
