Post by Aderalle on Sept 21, 2010 16:31:46 GMT -6
The place was... desolate. And the king of it, well, he was not something remotely appeased. His whole life had been centered around achieving greatness, overcoming goals, breaking barriers and one-upping all competitors... but, unfortunately, his innate laziness had gotten the best of him yet again. When would he learn? Probably - certainly - never.
Row after row of geometrically aligned trees. His own olive body passed through them quietly, patiently, pacing and stalking... brown eyes denied from being washed over in the sulking, pitiful stare which they so eagerly wished to be enrobed in. Cloven hooves clattered over exposed roots and ground bits of grey-brown gravel into dry, pine needle and leaf-blanketed earth. The crunch of a gold leaf could sound so different from the crunch of a red or brown one if a creature would only stop to listen... and the needles, they whispered things even the leaves could not ever know.
A huff, puff... a grunt. His body halted at the faint, trickling stream which he knew so well. Velvet-black muzzle lowered, grazed the cold, shallow water. One forehoof lifted, adjusted forward, regained grip. The olivine beast could have sworn that he had only risen a few hours ago, that dawn had just left him... but the shortened days of autumn had stolen away his daylight yet again. Shelter was his next priority.
But, as usual, there was no rushing the lowly king Aderalle. His head lifted slowly after a long, gulping drink, swung to its side like an old, creaking door does when the wind so persuades. The flesh of his muzzle twitched in order to send off some pest, a hoof dared to move... and he wandered off in the most lackadaisical way upstream.
Row after row of geometrically aligned trees. His own olive body passed through them quietly, patiently, pacing and stalking... brown eyes denied from being washed over in the sulking, pitiful stare which they so eagerly wished to be enrobed in. Cloven hooves clattered over exposed roots and ground bits of grey-brown gravel into dry, pine needle and leaf-blanketed earth. The crunch of a gold leaf could sound so different from the crunch of a red or brown one if a creature would only stop to listen... and the needles, they whispered things even the leaves could not ever know.
A huff, puff... a grunt. His body halted at the faint, trickling stream which he knew so well. Velvet-black muzzle lowered, grazed the cold, shallow water. One forehoof lifted, adjusted forward, regained grip. The olivine beast could have sworn that he had only risen a few hours ago, that dawn had just left him... but the shortened days of autumn had stolen away his daylight yet again. Shelter was his next priority.
But, as usual, there was no rushing the lowly king Aderalle. His head lifted slowly after a long, gulping drink, swung to its side like an old, creaking door does when the wind so persuades. The flesh of his muzzle twitched in order to send off some pest, a hoof dared to move... and he wandered off in the most lackadaisical way upstream.
