Post by Swampy on Jul 3, 2007 10:37:50 GMT -5
Mincing softly, gently, lightly across windswept dunes of sand and through air fragrant with seabreeze and seasalt, Risk left shallow, delicate indents in the tawny grains. Casting a golden head crowned with liquid charcoal behind her to be certain that her unwelcome companion had been left in the dust, the painted mare nonetheless stirred her creamy legs into a nervous canter, transitioning from the stinging bite of sand to the cool resort of a forest. Upon reaching the edge of Liberalitas, Risk paused for the briefest of moments to gather her bearings—far to her left rose imposing masses of stone; on her right a lake lapped gently at the shore. And directly ahead: a field of gold.
Trotting out in full splendor, with two-toned mane and tail dipping and billowing sweetly around her delicate tobiano figure, Risk fairly paraded about these new lands, unclaimed and beckoning. Castitas, land of purity. Perfectly suited for a lady of seven years who had so far maintained her chastity through countless miracles and no less than the divine protection of her good Lady Luck. How unfortunate it would have been if the amorous beast she’d met on the pale sands minutes before had ruined her reputation and destroyed her chance to rule! She wanted a kingdom. She needed a kingdom. The tricolor princess, forever at the center of all adoration, the queen—no, the goddess!—of her people. To rule in splendor and glory and never, never acknowledge a prince, no matter how many times she twirled across the ballroom and retired to the balcony for more private interaction. To keep herself free of sin, whole. To wear a tiara perfectly fitted for her ego, oh the perfection!
Pausing amidst a smattering of wildflowers, Risk lowered her head, allowing the wind to carry her mane across her marbled shoulders and tip the perfumed flowers into her waiting nostrils. Raising her head, the mare called out with a voice like tinkling glass, This land…shall be ruled by me.
Trotting out in full splendor, with two-toned mane and tail dipping and billowing sweetly around her delicate tobiano figure, Risk fairly paraded about these new lands, unclaimed and beckoning. Castitas, land of purity. Perfectly suited for a lady of seven years who had so far maintained her chastity through countless miracles and no less than the divine protection of her good Lady Luck. How unfortunate it would have been if the amorous beast she’d met on the pale sands minutes before had ruined her reputation and destroyed her chance to rule! She wanted a kingdom. She needed a kingdom. The tricolor princess, forever at the center of all adoration, the queen—no, the goddess!—of her people. To rule in splendor and glory and never, never acknowledge a prince, no matter how many times she twirled across the ballroom and retired to the balcony for more private interaction. To keep herself free of sin, whole. To wear a tiara perfectly fitted for her ego, oh the perfection!
Pausing amidst a smattering of wildflowers, Risk lowered her head, allowing the wind to carry her mane across her marbled shoulders and tip the perfumed flowers into her waiting nostrils. Raising her head, the mare called out with a voice like tinkling glass, This land…shall be ruled by me.
