The Water Horse [All Welcome]

[Cougar]

PASIO

((Paris goes first, then anyone can join))

It was a dark, hot, damp, sticky and overall uncomfortable afternoon at the marshes, the Deadly Marshes. The name wouldn't surprise anybody, really, every now and then there was an example of why it was called that. Pasio walked past the bleached bones of one of these unfortunate 'examples': some poor traveller that had decided to take the obscure shortcut of the swamp. Because many had heard about it, but few were those who actually knew how to thread these treacherous lands and more importantly, actually get to the other side, alive.

Nasty was this place, nastier than you'd think. The anarchic law of the jungle was the only rule here, only the strong survived. And not only died the weak, but the careless -- you could be perfectly healthy, only a wrong step, that's all it'd take. Pasio knew this place quite well, for many a time had he made this dangerous trip; but nonetheless, last time, he had to admit, he was a lot younger and lighter. Now he was a massive stallion, rough and rustic like a block of quartz; salmon pink in color with black stockings and mane; with a very convex profile, so typical of draft breeds, and apparently constructed of layer of muscle over muscle.

So tall was he that he could do nothing to avoid the pricking thorns scratching at his face and getting stuck in his rebellious mane. So heavy that the ground he stepped on had to be more than solid to sustain him, and so big that he'd often get stuck between the thin and long trees. In resume, his physics were enough to scare the ears out of a rival but no good in this swamp, no good at all.

[Sombra]

Paris gulped in a painful breath of air and his heart gave way to that familiar heavy aching which he had grown so accustomed to over the passed two weeks. All these feelings were perpetually welled up within him, scathing and writhing and hurting him. Oh how they scared him. He felt things so incredibly alien, things he couldn't comprehend. He was lonely and bitter with sorrow. And all the while, his heart caused him such intense suffering.

It was really quite tragic that one should suffer the throngs of loss at so young an age. Yes. This poor soul had lost his mother to a mountain lion only two weeks ago. Small Paris was still under a sense of self denial, and half expected to see his mother appear out of nowhere at any given moment. Then everything would be as it should; The pain and confusement would perish, along with all else that was currently wrong in his small yet frighteningly signifcant world. But sadly, as he would come to understand, this could never happen. It never had; and never would.

Paris, despite his rugged pelt which was saturated in hazel spot's and white blotches, was really quite a handsome little lad, his eyes near black and embroided with long charcoal lashes. His gaze was quite unsettling, bearing a look of wisdom far beyond his age. Being of appaloosa blood, he stood out like a drop of blood on a white sheet. Unfortunate, considering how vulnerable he was.

"Your mother is dead". An older mare had told him numerous days ago whilst he had stared endlessly into the Marshes deathly glimmer. "There's no sense in dwelling on it." But dwell on it he had; and did. His herd had loitered near The Deadly Marshes for a couple of days, feeding off the harsh tussocks which bordered the wasteland. But only hours before they departed, having grown nervous and restless from the land and it's terrifying pressance, Paris had abandoned them, taking with him not but a heavy heart and began his dangerous decent through the notorious terrain.

It hadn't mattered where he went, or how he'd get there. The only thing remotely significant to him, was getting there. Getting away. He wanted to lose himself. Disappear just as the life which had once glittered vibrantly within his mothers eyes, had. Hoping that, perhaps in losing himself, he would then be found. And he would know. But know what? Well, Paris had not the slightest clue. He only knew he sought it. Sought something. And that was all.

Suddenly the mist ahead dispersed itself with an abrupt gust of wind, revealing to young Paris, a large and menacing form. Paris was only small, and encounters involving vagabond stallions with one as young as himself could prove alarmingly harmful, and in many cases, even fatal. Now, any other youngster would have cleared the area before another breath could decend. But Paris was so overcome by anger and sadness, he faced the salmon colored brute with terrifying martyrdom, accepting that there was no where to run and he would not retreat from the males presence anyway.

The fog, although having cleared partially, still lay strewn in thick drapes of condensation, so young Paris could not quite tell if the brute was looking in his direction. This small colt would not go down without a fight, not on this evening where death seemed to call his name so clearly and lingered in the atmosphere. Suddenly, Paris focused all his misery and aggravation apon the stallion, channeling all those emotions until he felt he might explode with rage. But rather than eploding, as he thought he might, he found he could only stand there, his hooves submerged in mud, forcing his venomous gaze apon the wanderer.

Anyone who might chance apon a situation such as this, might have thought the young sod was attempting to harm the huge stallion with some kind of mind powers. Ha. An amusing thought.

[Administration]

What is that? Some weird fish...? Pasio narrowed his eyes as if to concentrate all the power of a laser gaze to pierce through the mist curtain. No... it must be a tree stump... or else the fish around here have got roots. He'd seen some pretty strange fish, but roots? No. But wait, were those even roots...? They certainly looked like legs from this other angle.

Pasio snorted. The unidentified thing had moved and the stallion, wide-eyed, gave a step back and nearly slipped into the murky water. Oh no, a ghost!

WIP