[aw] your bark will wear thin

Harrow D'Angelo · 09-26-2012, 09:20 PM

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She could tell there was a shift in things between her and her family. She could try to fool herself into believing that nothing had changed since her disappearance and return, but the loud scar across her sister's chest was just as much as a reminder as her limp arm was that nothing was the same. There was a change in Savlia in particular, though, the subtle things. The look upon her face, a different kind of sharpness in her cat-eyes. It was a colder flame than the last time they had met.

Ears pressed hard against black tendrils at the mention of Father. How long ago was that fateful day? The number of days, months that he had not walked on this earth suddenly came and overwhelmed her, threatening to choke her into silence or quiet whimpering. The familial love that had seemed to be forgotten, save for Mother, pressed heavily against her chest. She never properly mourned him.

"Father was a good horseman," she stated, quiet. She only allowed self-possession to register on her face, but eyes remained hard on the woman's muzzle, for eyes were windows to the soul, and her soul was now aching. "It does not surprise me you have gleaned his talent." Maybe Harrow would have, too, if things had been different. She loved animals, after all, sometimes even more than her own species. But, whatever small things she did now from him would remain the same forever, until she stepped out and expanded them herself.

"The horse seems difficult never the less," she continued, her gaze now moving to the beast. Things seemed to calm down inside of her as she looked over the mare, and talking about her, avoiding the tension, was better. She entertained the thought of riding her--surely with the thing's temper and her weak arm she would be flung off before she could think about making the first step. "What's her name?"

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