[aw] your bark will wear thin

Salvia Eternity · 09-27-2012, 11:34 AM

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The frost that ringed her heart had sunk deeper into the black pit of her soul. Salvia was a true child of winter—her pale coat was the color of frozen straw, her hair bleached ivory. Only her eyes were of a stranger’s color, but they suited her in ways she did not comprehend. She knew little of her heritage or what it meant, and oh those eyes were not entirely Eris. They were purer, older, binding her to a monster that she did not understand. In her own way, she had surpassed him.

She was as terrible as she was magnificent. Her well muscled body betrayed the lithe ease of a predator, an almost feline quality that reflected in her confidence. Salvia walked as if the world belonged to her, and indeed it did within these borders. The arrogance within her was equally as terrible as the black thing that blossomed under her warped behavior outside of Salsola. She was monstrous.

“Eyre,” Salvia answered, and looped the reins over a post. She spoke as she worked, undoing the strap that held the saddle across the gray mare’s belly. “She is still green,” the blonde woman went on, more comfortable speaking of the horse than she was anything personal. “But it is her bloodline I wanted. I will have time to break her.” It was said with a smug sort of satisfaction, as if believing she was alone in this talent. Few of her Salsolan family had made an effort in the ways of horses, after all.

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