Post by sylveadiff on Dec 5, 2013 15:46:30 GMT -5
Torrence's tiny hooves cut easilly through the filthy water, which was up to his sholders.. Canarjus, the arabian mare close behind him, would only wish to be so lucky. Torren was, unlike his current companion, swimming. Because of the level of water, in comparison to the lanky roan, Torren looked as tall as a large pony.
He was uneasy in this swamp. It was too warm for the tiny equine, and it seamed more like the larger horse was herding him, rather than following him. In fact, he had been suspicious of the mare ever since they met. However, he did owe her a favor, as she had found him badly injured, and hardly concious, near the shallows. After that, he could hardly have denied the mare's request to travel with him. Still, there seemed to be something... fake about the healer. Something dishonest, something as dark as his pelt, and more impure than the tangled mass of his mane.
Putting this thought aside for the moment, the black-and-crimson falabella clambered onto a mossy mud-bank, waiting as the taller roan unstuck her near-cylindrical hooves from the filth and weed to do the same. " Come on. We shold spend as little time resting here as possible." he stated cautiously. He was aware of many thick, writhing vines on the nearby banks, and he did not want to fall victem to their wild grasps, but they were both tired, and they both needed their rest.
After reaching the bank, the roan called to him. "Might I ask... why are we going north, and not south?"
He was uneasy in this swamp. It was too warm for the tiny equine, and it seamed more like the larger horse was herding him, rather than following him. In fact, he had been suspicious of the mare ever since they met. However, he did owe her a favor, as she had found him badly injured, and hardly concious, near the shallows. After that, he could hardly have denied the mare's request to travel with him. Still, there seemed to be something... fake about the healer. Something dishonest, something as dark as his pelt, and more impure than the tangled mass of his mane.
Putting this thought aside for the moment, the black-and-crimson falabella clambered onto a mossy mud-bank, waiting as the taller roan unstuck her near-cylindrical hooves from the filth and weed to do the same. " Come on. We shold spend as little time resting here as possible." he stated cautiously. He was aware of many thick, writhing vines on the nearby banks, and he did not want to fall victem to their wild grasps, but they were both tired, and they both needed their rest.
After reaching the bank, the roan called to him. "Might I ask... why are we going north, and not south?"