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 Posted: Sat Jun 01, 2013 7:04 pm
This is a private roleplay between Kararti & Roarian Aloysius Bleauregard (Mahogany Sunset). Please do not post without permission to do so.  
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Posted: Sat Jun 01, 2013 9:20 pm
It was an odd sort of sunny day - everything was bright and happy, the river gurgling nearby... But to Kararti, it seemed quiet. Even with her sensitive hearing and keen eyes, her surroundings seemed still. Maybe it was due to her distinctive lack of raucous family or the fact that she was in a fairly normal mood today; whatever the case, Kara didn't feel the need to move from her spot beside the lazy currents of the river. Water, in fact, was one of her favorite things to watch, aside from her brothers' silly antics. Smooth and glassy and clear... Unlike so many things in life, she could see what was lying in the depths.
Amber eyes shifting slightly upstream, Kara rose gracefully to her feet, using her tail to keep herself a bit more balanced. There was something up there, making its way gradually toward her. Is that a piece of string? she thought to herself, snorting slightly. Why would a piece of string be in the river? It wasn't exactly a common item in these far-reaching parts of the Kawani Lands, unless it was an accessory on a soquili... Could it possibly be? Her first stranger?
Eyeing the forested section north of her, Kara let her tail weave back and forth, snake-like. Who would it be? What would they look like? She had so many questions! Her curiosity was killing her.
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Posted: Tue Sep 30, 2014 10:58 pm
Come back, come back, come back, roared the thoughts of Roarian Aloysius Bleauregard as he followed the length of the river, watching the length of pale string that floated on the surface. The river was calm and glassy, but deceptively quick, and despite the fact that it looked calm, judging by the pace at which the string he had dropped in it was moving, Roary was not about to set foot in it. In some places, he had to practically lope to keep up with it - and that was something that almost made him hyperventilate with panic. He could not watch the ground in front of him and the string at the same time, and that meant he had far too much of a likelihood for tripping. No, no, no, no, NO, he thought as the string bobbed, but it did not sink under; it was merely following the current over a tall rock that was sunk deep into the riverbed.
The strings he had were essential to his survival, or at least, he thought they were; they kept his hair from his eyes, helping him not to trip. They also kept him from getting his hair tangled: when tied up, he had much less to worry about. However, his hair was free now, and only the speed at which he ran kept his hair out of his eyes. It was almost certainly tangled. If he was unlucky - and he usually was - he would get it caught in a tree branch. If he got it caught in a tree branch, he would, for certain, lose sight of his string, and then he would be done for. If he got his hair stuck in a tree branch, he risked pulling it out, which meant a wound in his scalp, which meant the possibility for infection. With any wound, even a small one - one so minuscule that it was hardly visible - there was a possibility of infection. And infections had killed much bigger soquili than he, and that was saying something, for he was quite large, even for a draft.
Nostrils flaring as he caught the unfamiliar scent of a stranger - a female stranger - Roarian rounded a bend in the river. Something in him, perhaps his peripheral vision, told him that someone was there, and that she was orange. Shouting would not much help his case, but it was all he could do. "Please, help me! I need that string that's in the river, it's mine, I need it! It is a matter of life and death! Grab it, if you can, or I fear I will be lost!" And there were plenty of things he could be lost to, all over a tiny piece of string: infection, a broken ankle from tripping, a bout of wet cough if he did, indeed, have to go after the hair tie himself. Oh, please help me. For the love of the spirits, help me. It was all he could ask, and he practically begged. Those hair ties were his life at that moment, and the one he had lost was slipping away.
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Posted: Thu Oct 30, 2014 8:29 pm
The sound of thundering hooves made Kara's ears flick as she tried to crane her neck to see the stranger who would undoubtedly be coming around the bend at any moment. Those hooves she was hearing - were they not quite loud and heavy for a normal soquili? Her eyes widened and her tail flicked, some of her curiosity was overcome by fear. Were not some of the land's largest soquili also evil? Her eyes darted down the path from which she had come to this sunning spot by the river. She could make it back down it in a hurry if she needed to, and if a being that loud and that heavy was coming after her, she could only hope that she would have the advantage of speed.
Before she could consider that idea further, however, a loud, deep voice broke through her thoughts and drew her eyes back to the bend. A soquili - the biggest soquili she had ever seen, and that was saying something, given how tall her father was - had just rounded the bend, and he was shouting for her to help him. Help him? she thought, frowning, and then he mentioned the thread in the river, and something about life and death. Her eyes widened further, and without anymore ado, Kara trotted over to the river bank. Carefully, she braced herself for the way down, taking each ginger step one moment at a time; the river muck was a combination of mud, sand, and round river rocks, and footing could be treacherous. Thankfully, the string was still a little ways up the river, floating along gently as it pleased. She already knew her course of action: it was close enough to shore that all she should have to do would be to dip her horn in, let it curl around it, and then pull it out.
Wading knee deep into the river, Kara took a deep breath. If this was truly a matter of life and death, as the stallion had said, then she needed to do this. She was just lucky that she was unafraid of water; she had been told that her love of water was akin to the enjoyment jaguars found in it. She was not, however, about to get close enough to one to find out if those who had told her had spoken the truth.
Wading out a little farther, she spotted the string and bent her neck down to catch it. The muscles around her eyes hurt with the strain of looking up at her horn, but by the time she straightened her neck out again, she knew she had it. Carefully, so as not to drop it into the water again, Kara waded back to shore, where she found the stallion standing next to the little grassy knoll upon which she had been sunning herself. Shaking the string from her horn, she smiled up at him. "There you go," she said. Depending on what came out of his mouth, she decided to reserve judgment on whether or not he was worth talking to for an extended period of time or whether she ought to just head down the trail for home.
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Posted: Thu Oct 30, 2014 9:40 pm
As Roary thundered closer, he saw the orange stranger lift her head and head down the river bank without a word. When he reached the spot where she must have been lying moments before - the grass was all flattened down - he looked over the edge of the river bank to find her, but stayed far enough back that his weight would not cause the ground below him to give way. Wet as they were, the banks were unstable, and he did not mean to go tumbling into the river that way, head over heels. He would more than likely break something on the way in, and so he stayed back, watching the little orange and purple mare from on high.
She went into the river just the way he would have done it: carefully, gingerly, one foot at a time, and only up to knee height. They were lucky, he supposed, that it was a warm summer day; it would be unfortunate if she had gone in there during a cold season, when it would have been much more difficult to dry off in the end.
Watching as she bent her head to the water, Roary followed the string with his eyes, and jolted with surprise as it wrapped perfectly around a horn that protruded from her forehead. She had a horn on her forehead?! He had thought - well, he had thought that she was simply bending forward to get a better angle on the tie or something, but that was, apparently, not the case at all.
He watched her with wide, dark blue eyes as she came back up the back and loosed the string at his feet. Roary had half a mind to take the hair tie and run - he did not like being confronted with horns when he least expected it. They could stab him, slash him, poke at him painfully, make puncture wounds... And cause infection. And he had already taken enough chances with infection today.
Then again, he thought, and his mind, for once, took him down the path that wondered if she was benevolent, she did just rescue something for you from the river with that horn. Maybe she means well. "Thank you," he said breathlessly and bashfully, looking down at the hair tie. Ought he to explain himself? No, perhaps he should let her ask... Such a tiny item seemed so trivial in matters of life and death, but if she wanted to know, she could ask. This tiny thing, and others like it, had saved him before, when his hair had gotten away from him. He had been blinded by it for days, until at last he had found a raccoon familiar to tie it back into place again. Every once in a while, he would be forced to find a two-legger... But he hated to do that, as so few of them could be trusted. Some of them favored horse meat, or might even think that he was not a soquili and try to tame him, for, after all, he looked quite like any other regular horse breed. He had all the markings for it, just not the personality. He had been tamed before, and he would never go back.
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