Lasyia, Lady of the Lights, calls the Elements

[♥Enchantment♥]

Lasyia, Lady of the Lights stepped upon the land. Occuli gazed about, searching for the other Elemental leaders. A great problem had struck them. She wanted to protect all of her mortal friends, and make alliances to protect others than Lights. Maybe, if they all helped, this problem could be delt with in a less.......costly way. She was obviously the first to arrive. Sunligth gleamed and danced upon her pure-hued coat and twin harks, delicatly formed, listened far and wide for another of her fellow immortal.

The wait and the battle has begun.

[P a l ò u s e]

An orchid crunches beneath the soft pitter patter of duckling feet, padding along moist bronze sand-soil, following mud-path quarried by former creatures. The pale evening light washing over as gentle waves of salty ocean lap against polished stones, while songbirds and martins sing in their pond by the sea, and multicolored fish darted about beneath the water’s glassy surface. Her sad brown eyes watch them carry out their dailies, as if living this humdrum life style means nothing to them, that they mind not their routine doings, only a miniscule portion of their time wasted on spontaneous indulging. Foreign hooves scrape against worn dirt-path that weaves through the damp gravel, a thick past pulsing out from beneath a pair of diminutive black hooves. No sound escapes her lips but her eyes laugh with the innocent laughter of a child; trapped and lonely beneath the green-gold surface of a distraught infant.

In appearance the Furioso had a correcly porportioned head which is quite often refined and has more of a thoroughbred look then that of the Nonius. The neck is porportioned to the body and is muscular with a prolific mane. They are often described as having basic workmanlike conformation which is a debt to the Nonius. They are often long through the back, have muscular quarters, strong legs, and hocks that are well let down. They should be wide through the chest and have a sloping shoulder. Conformational faults that may occur are pigeon toes in front or cowhocks behind. Generally they have well reformed legs without defects but in some cases with premature foals they develop these after two to three months. Normally they are bay chestnut or black but on occasion a grey foal will be born, unique and rare like our palouse.

She strides with the novel steps of a child yet she is not new to this place, she is careful, each innovative step more tender then the last; lest a rarer avis cross one’s incautious eyes. She is made of star-dust of red-gold rays twisted, joined within the accidental meeting of two former lovers that have now grown so far apart. She is alone in this world of ancient spruce, without love, without emotion. No one is immune to emotion; no one can hide them selves in a sea of grass like she can. She is undeniably skilled; her actions fall effortlessly with much intent yet still accidental.

Now, however, night has become her playmate – it is through night that she wanders, half-mad and half-brilliant, in the dim pools of starlight and moonshine, casting slanted shadows upon and almost through her. They create images of fantasy that spill from her mind in her own shell of a world, the concealing shadow shrouds her, fastening the star-child to its bosom, removing her from reality. She is gray – a pale shade rather then pure white; her mane falls silver around her neck and shoulders, wind-swept, with tinge of this wild and improbable. Her mud-smeared hooves pad lightly across anonymous soil, wandering through the ancient forest along shore-line and aspen. So does my breathless child wander; pale-white and tender – a chest of loveliness and grace; mane to the wind, she drifts with the invisible sand, beneath her feet. You must forgive her for being afraid; forgive her for shying away; for she knows not what you are.

Longing dissolves her worry, shatters the walls of her reserve and she smiles a little, though those eyes remain downcast, lovely, dark eyes, as the sea’s depth. With this mare she does not bother to look in her face, instead she stares, wide-eyed with wanderlust, at the moon. this female, she seems no more a portrait of every other avis that tattles around the group. Yet Palòuse does not judge, she is oblivious to the prattle of horses and wildlife around her, immune to their allure. In a sweep of wind her lovely eyes are no more, hidden beneath the shade of forelock. “Hello, i am Palòuse.” she says simply, quietly, then no more.

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p a l ò u s e

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[/color]come one, come all, into 1985;[/right][/size][/color][/font]

[Lasyia]

Slight bow accompanied her bodice towards the femme, the honoured (and hopefully friendly) Palouse. Occuli gazed at her understandingly. Thinkbox played on what Palouse might think of all these happenings. Kemor and Araya, and the two young offspring,.....up and gone? Sashe's dissappearance, and the corrupt of the darks? Vocals inquried calmly and friendly of her thoughts.

Hello, my friend, Palouse. May I inquire your thoughts on the current evens?

OOC: Sorry, running out of muse and time, but simply just how do you feel bout all thats going on and what she wants to do about it. LOL

[Z o d i a c]

ill post here soon!