innocence, i think not....

[Cesse]

If you took away the sin
and looked beyond the joy
there is one thing you find
s o r r o w

Dark Spruce forest frowned on either side of the frozen waterway. The trees had been stripped by a recent wind of their white covering of frost, and they seemed to lean toward each other, black and ominous, in the fading light. A vast silence over the land. The land itself was a desolation, lifeless, without movement, so lone and cold that the spirit of it was not even that of sadness. There was a hint in it of laughter, but of a laughter more terrible than any sadness-a laughter that was mirthless and the smile of the Sphinx, a laughter cold as the frost and partaking of the grimness of infallibility. It was the masterful and incommunicable wisdom of eternity laughing at the futility of life and the effort of life. Cesse moved below in silence, desolate lands dotted here and there with signs of life. Were there no other mares awaiting the same fate as she? Wisps of ideas drifted into the mind of the young nymph, haunting thoughts refusing to budge from her, no matter how hard she try. The slim rays of light had begun to show through the blanket of darkness, usually Cesse would be settling down to rest, though since her arrival to Lemorsea her nomadic ways were irrelevant and were in need of change. Minx fought off the threatening slumber with a slight toss of her dial, and flints were forced onward.

Overwhelming aromas wisped directly to the nares of Cesse, vessel trodding along the scented path in hopes to find existence. The crisp morning air sent chills along her grey hide, so faintly blanketed in faded alabaster ringlets. Flowing silver plume erect , streaming as a spring river just bursting to life. Faint whispers entered the petite doves harli, intent on finding traces of an overpowering czar that would fill her every intention. Cesse had desires to be overpowered and serve the mighty lord who conveyed her to his abode, there he would give her power and the little nymph would power over the other pathetic wenches whom thought they were "special" to her master. Chuckle escaped her with a toss of her barren voids, finally accomplishing the task of locating the lands of Claiming by the chilling dawn. Wide varieties of hues ranging from simply yellows to rich rouge. The thick, dried blades of straw-hued grasses tenderly eased over the doves flints, leaving them without the strips of moisture that warmer-weathered seasons did whilst the morning dew condensed upon the stalks.

These lands hold so much power, so much potential. Nature is the main enemy of life, though it is life. Notice how it 's goal is to cease movement. The water is frozen over, the sap of trees frozen to stop them all from movement. Frail bodice of Cesse broke the pattern of frozt by briskly advancing towards the desired area, there she would await her choosing lord. It was up in the air to know whom was coming, though the dame hoped he would be large structured and intimidating, for she desired a bronc that would protect her and the land by whatever means, risking his life for the sake of his posessions.

Cesse stood beside an old Oak tree, lids fluttering shut, snapping open, and repeating the process before the maiden became annoyed with herself and decided to explore a little more. Flints conveyed her along at a brisk walk, voids searing through the pathetic excuses for mares as she passed them by. No patron caught her candied pools as she observed their maturity, boldness, and personas. Was there not a well rounded czar that could simply sweep her off her flints and walk away into the sunset amongsT? The world was nothing as is used to be, no longer were femmes used for "whims", which was good, but left many homeless. The Equine population was faltering greatly with each passing decade, and never would it be as it used to.

[Tarn]

How do you feel, that is the question
But I forget you don't expect an easy answer
When something like a soul becomes initialized
And folded up like paper dolls and little notes

----

Limbs carried the muscular phantom form over the earth, flints once again pounding into the soil with force, the wreckage of grass left in a chaotic trail as proof of Tarn's passage. Appendages flew to the rhythm of a slow canter, brawny muscles stretching and contracting beneath the dappled steel canvas. Even though he remained determinedly strong as always, his current power was waning internally, leaving him weary when the sun had reared its cheerful head to gaze warmly upon the world. Sleep had once again fled his grasp during the hours of darkness, eluding him as it had many nights in his recent past. He currently suffered from a sort of insomnia, life envisioned through murky optics as a waking dream. Still, this did not make him weak. No, if any such creature was crazed enough to attempt a challenge at present, Tarn could have swiveled on ashen haunches and trounced upon them in an instant. Just because he was a little tired did not give reason for his functions to react with reduced speed. His only response to the weight that pressed upon his agitated mind was to dig hooves into the dying turf with greater vivacity, stilts snapping upwards with great show before they again fell with the consistency of a peculiar metronome that endlessly ticks away the time. His movement across the terra did not hint even the slightest of weakness, muscles bundled with energy that was waiting to emerge into the world to propel the silver stag faster into oblivion. His eyes held a spark to them that covered the regular frosty glare, their depths alight with some newfound purpose that drove the stallion forward from the dank forests of his newly acquired home.

The light of the sun shined down meekly through the reach of branches upon the stag as he crossed the different terrains, destination bold in mind. The rays illumed the dark dapples of his pelt, marking the thick web of circles that covered his body in varying shades. The skin was a covering for the monster that lay beneath, the thick metal door of a vault that hides away all the secrets of eternity. The canvas was stretched taut over virile sinews that were rugged and hardened as metal from use. Every day it seemed he tested the capacity of his strength, pushing his gallop just a little faster so that he struggled to race against the laces of time, wind whipping at his face in defiance of his speed. He was not all made of brawny strength and swift speeds, however. The mind and soul that lay buried beneath that image of stolid resilience held power, as well. He was like a jewelry box - his outward appearance similar to the intricate design of the casing while his mind stalked inside as the glittering spoils. Except those "glittering spoils" were best described not as jewelry, but as a barricade that refused to relent to weakness of any kind. So long Tarn had learned to be strong, the need to be superior or be replaced pounded continually into the chains of his mentality. Kill or be killed. There was no in between.

Ever since Tarn had been young he had battled with this sense of placement in the world. He had been born late in the year, in the very season that now was passing swiftly over the land, birthed as the youngest foal in the midst of an aggregation of herds. Since birth, he had fought for some semblance of control over his life, struggling with other foals twice his size in defense so that he might not be washed beneath the rugs of failure as so many others had before him. He remembered watching carefully as other foals younger than him had succumbed to the older youths, cold detachment growing like a poison in his mind until it had conquered all sense of normalcy. So he had battled vigorously for leadership, his mind always landing him one step ahead of the opponent before they could land a nearly fatal strike. Memory returned to him of how his elders had done nothing but watch in amusement, peering on as the foals had circled each other like cocks too young to understand the consequences of their brawls. One had to be tough to survive; no sire or dam would come running at your cry, you would receive only ridicule for requests for aid. Tarn had grown as such, emerging as a leader amongst his generation. The runt had done the impossible - he had dominated them all. As a result, he knew no such thing as love or tenderness for those attributes were considered weak. Strength, he knew, and he excelled in that aspect.

A cold chill breached the stallion's defenses, causing his skin to twitch in brief annoyance. The wind seemed to be reaching out to grasp him in frigid fingers, slipping past the growing wool of his fur to steal the warmth from his body. Despite the cold, the sun's rays shined brightly in his eyes now as trees gave way to open land, illuminating their brown depths and causing him to blink unwillingly in response. He wished that clouds might come to conceal the great orange eye from view so that he might reside in the peace of at least subdued light, but no such luck was to grace him now. Still, he held no complaint against the sun as his talons slipped effortlessly over the lithosphere, carrying him forward endlessly in the direction of his desired destination. Even in its weakened state, the sun did manage to provide him the comfort of gentle warmth in fortification against the cold. Tarn knew that winter was soon to come, already breathing thickly upon the lands in great gasps of frost that blanketed the earth. Soon, clouds would come bringing the cold crystals of snow that would cover the earth in an arctic blanket. Like the changing of scenes in a play, this act was coming to an abrupt close and the death of winter was close, peeking from behind the curtain while awaiting its call.

Eyes roamed the land as senses became aware that Tarn had at last arrived at his destination - the lands of claiming. He searched for a fae that would capture his attention, that might stand boldly by his side as a part of something holding resemblance to a family. His hope did not extend so far as to snatch on to the elusive feeling commonly labeled love, but he did believe that a strong connection could exist. He believed that he might find someone to care so deeply about that he might risk his life to protect her existence. Perhaps he could indeed find a diversion for his interests that strayed beyond the boundaries of strength. Confident smile grazed his lips as he searched, inquisitive nostrils acquiring the scent of many horses mixed among the normal odors produced by nature. Everything stood out to him as attention was drawn to the setting, sights roaming the land and absorbing each detail. Trees stood sentinel along his chosen route, ancient bark stripped by the wind of coming winter. The leaves had long left the branches, laying strewn like fallen shreds of life about the floor. The soil was carpeted by dying strands of turf, the once vibrant green colors fading from the stalks so that they appeared drab and dull, awaiting the whisper of death that stalked through the land. Frost coated the tips of the sod, beads of frozen moisture poised delicately in a light covering of transparent white. His hooves displaced the frost, leaving dark oval imprints in the wake of his obsidian hooves. The scene overall was stark in wait of winter, all life stripped of color and protection. The chill winds again curled around his stilts that had since slowed in speed, adding to the cumulative affect that pressed upon the stag of dark ash. Movements now swung to the beat of a venturesome walk, stride reaching to cover the earth with each taken step. He was content to allow the sensations of the world around him to nearly overwhelm even though focus remained the same.

At last, his morning stroll found success. Placed before him, wandering in a way not all that dissimilar from his own, strode a fae of cretaceous tone, dapples generously littering her hide. Her eyes were veiled from him so he could not immediately even pretend to judge her character, but from her stance he found himself drawn to her somehow. There was a pull present that he had not felt for other mares he had passed on his journey to this moment. One could not question fate and so Tarn did not attempt to do such a thing now, simply altering his motion so that it began to parallel that of the ashen fae. He approached her boldly, almost strutting in her direction, but without great detail of show so he did not appear pretentious. It was true that Tarn knew this claiming game quite well, but he was in no mood for petty games at the moment. No, if this fae wanted to be interested in him, then he was going to show her his true character to win her affections and not some facade that would eventually fall away to reveal something she may not approve of. He was done with games. As the gap between them closed so that a comfortable distance stood between them, he offered her a genuine smile, lips twitching upwards so that his cold eyes softened with the kindness that was buried beneath the built bravado. Eyes looked into hers with resolution, willing her to hold his gaze and touch upon the barest brinks of his soul and the strength that lay there that could be hers to take should she so desire. At last, his maw parted to release his deep lyrics so that her auds might catch his voice. "Greetings. I am called Tarn, though some prefer to simply call me Tar." His smile remained writ on his mug, slight confidence slipping into his voice and evident in his posture. "May I be so bold as to ask your calling?" If this mare chose to outright refuse him right then and there, he understood it was only a manner of life. Still, despite this, he found himself wishing with a sort of uncommon desperation that she might find him worthy of her speech. He could not help but be aware of her beauty that pressed upon the edges of his thoughts, her scent strong in his nares, lingering softly in his mind. He grasped that wonderful scent that was her even when he did not yet hold knowledge of her name, recording it so that he might hold it forever in memory. Already, standing there as the image of strong stillness, he found himself slightly entranced by her presence, intent on any words that might deign to slip past her enamels and grace his auds. Patiently, he waited.

----

You can't expect a bit of hope
So while you're outside looking in describing what you see
Remember what you're staring at is me

ooc: Ack, sorry for the horriblishness of this post. *hits head on desk*

[Cesse]

So sorry, I'll begin posting now. I wasn't allowed on this weekend. I must say, compliments on your post. I find it to be overwhelming, you've made a hard post to follow, up

[Tarn]

ooc: No need to apologize, please take your time. ^^ And you flatter me... beware or it might just go to my head, lol. I'm sorry for making it overwhelming, hehe. I promise it was not intended. I must say I was not pleased with the whole outcome of the post, although I suppose it's not bad. *frowns*

[Cesse]

Wow, I feel auful! I've been overloaded with essays and book reports to the point that I can't even think about a post until next monday or tuesday. Please forgive me, Tarn, I appoligize greatly.

[Tarn]

Tarn has left, but may return later if Cesse is able to post.