- Invitation Status
- Looking for partners
- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Online Availability
- Weekends
- Writing Levels
- Advanced
- Prestige
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- Genres
- Fantasy (medieval or modern), sci-fi, steampunk, genres involving dragons
Zaira watches him. She has done a lot of watching all her life, and now is not the time to stop. From the way he responds to her words, she believes to have said too much. His story was disarming, and she revealed a part of her life that not many knew. When she looks back into the honest gaze of the man who is to be her partner, her eyes are only guarded and hard. They are the eyes of someone who feels she has done something wrong. When he bows, she simply inclines her head. "Tomorrow," she replies before disappearing into the other room.
Zaira does not sleep on this night. She wonders why she was so unconscious in her decision to reveal her past. Truth, she knows that it is her story of why she is what she is, but Arean does not need to know. They are not permanent partners. She curses her slip of the tongue before making attempts to sleep once more.
Morning finds her hair disheveled and one boot off. She has overslept, for she hears knocking and knows it must be Arean. She proceeds with haste to find her left boot and braid her hair to hide the tangled locks. Once she finds herself suitable to present herself, she opens the door. "Morning," she says shortly, making sure she hasn't left anything in the room. She travels light, and any bags she carries are attached to whatever horse she has acquired.
She brushes past Arean to exit into the bar area. She doesn't understand men, for she notices several who have already drained two or three cups of something alcoholic. She rolls her eyes at them before she leaves and finds the entrance to the stable. Legs lets her know he notices her approach with a nicker, and she gives him a quick smile. The horse is the only person who has the privilege to receive such an expression. At least for now. Zaira finds him well, though he is not saddled like she had hoped. The stable boy had no idea when she would leave, so it is to be expected. She hefts the thick blanket onto Legs's back, brushing out his mane and removing the matted tangles. She is quick to throw the saddle on top of the blanket and cinch the straps. Legs does not enjoy the bridle, but he takes the bit into his mouth regardless.
"Good boy," she croons, scratching him. How a horse has managed to turn her into someone soft, even she does not know.
Zaira does not sleep on this night. She wonders why she was so unconscious in her decision to reveal her past. Truth, she knows that it is her story of why she is what she is, but Arean does not need to know. They are not permanent partners. She curses her slip of the tongue before making attempts to sleep once more.
Morning finds her hair disheveled and one boot off. She has overslept, for she hears knocking and knows it must be Arean. She proceeds with haste to find her left boot and braid her hair to hide the tangled locks. Once she finds herself suitable to present herself, she opens the door. "Morning," she says shortly, making sure she hasn't left anything in the room. She travels light, and any bags she carries are attached to whatever horse she has acquired.
She brushes past Arean to exit into the bar area. She doesn't understand men, for she notices several who have already drained two or three cups of something alcoholic. She rolls her eyes at them before she leaves and finds the entrance to the stable. Legs lets her know he notices her approach with a nicker, and she gives him a quick smile. The horse is the only person who has the privilege to receive such an expression. At least for now. Zaira finds him well, though he is not saddled like she had hoped. The stable boy had no idea when she would leave, so it is to be expected. She hefts the thick blanket onto Legs's back, brushing out his mane and removing the matted tangles. She is quick to throw the saddle on top of the blanket and cinch the straps. Legs does not enjoy the bridle, but he takes the bit into his mouth regardless.
"Good boy," she croons, scratching him. How a horse has managed to turn her into someone soft, even she does not know.