Welcome to Gaia! ::

This is a short story contest for all my non-nubber-flubs! - bricked - GAH! What this means is that if you are one of them people with more than one herla then you are eligible to enter this contest.

● Be nice. Don't discourage anyone and so on. Or else I won't let you play.
● You may not gift away Herla won from this contest.
● The gender is predetermined and cannot be changed.
● He is fully grown. But you may decide if he is an adult or a perma-child.
● All entries should be no fewer than 2 paragraphs but no more than 1 page long. Hi! I are Loveless and I dun wants to read 30 pages! HURP! :'B
● You may edit your entry as many times as you want until then end of contest. Once it's over the thread will be locked for judging.
● Insanity_Of_The_loveless and Thy Reaper will be judging this, but should we not be able to decide together, Poison Ivy Josephine will be our tiebreaker.
● This isn't a rule so much as it's a statement: His hair is not water. I cannot stress this enough. It's just meant to look like water. It's not water.
● Above all: please, don't be a sore loser if you didn't win, there is always next time.

Open

Temperament: Serene
Story: Kawthar stood on the bank of the river, over looking the other herla as they prepare for the fall celebrations. By nightfall, the festival shall begin and it'll last till morning. Kawthar looked up in to the sky as the sun sets, setting the sky ablazed, thinking about how this day would end. Then he turned around to see some herla about his age.

"Kawthar!" yelled a female herla. "Will you be joining us at the festival tonight?"

"Yeah! It's going to be fun." said her twin so excitedly.

Kawthar smiled. "Yeah. It's going to be fun." Kawthar ran to them and they started to run towards the festival as soon as the sky turned black with starry skies.

The Kawthar and the other herlas danced and played to the music all around them, living in the moment, doing everything Kawthar wanted to do so that he will live out the day with no regrets.

The young herlas and Kawthar watched as the sunrise the following day.

Kawthar smiled and took in a deep breath...and closed his eyes.

"I wonder...what the next day would bring."

Temperament: Tempestuous
Story:

Anthea stood ridged, looking out over the swamp lands, muscles tensing as the hind approached from behind. “Anthea..” Her voice was strained and tight. They had had this conversation so many times before. She had begged him, pleaded with him, but he would hear none of it. Now, even as she called his name, not even his ear turned to hear her. “Anthea, the swamp is dieing… We must move to better grounds, or we will perish as well.” Anthea struggled to keep his composure, his chest tight as sorrow, fear and anger swelled in a tempest not at all unlike the hurricanes that had shaken their home… His home, in the past. How many times had the trees been leveled, and their home torn to shreds? “Leave if you want.” The words were cold, half spat at the hind he had known since childhood. Another time, he might have been gentler with his words. He was not blind, nor was he deaf. He knew the pain that this was causing her, that she had wanted him to come as well, but the very idea was absurd. This was their home, not any other place. This was theirs to care for, and now when the land needed them most, they were turning tail. He turned to look at the hind, blue eyes ever cold, filled with a wounded and fierce betrayal. “I am going to leave now. I suggest you do the same.” Without another word, and deaf to any of hers, the hart waded out into the waters, until he had disappeared into the wonder of his swamp.
There was once a time when the Crystal Swamps had been a beautiful place. Its waters were not the muddy and murky waters of other lands, but rather a beautiful blue, the color of the mid-morning sky. It teemed with life both beautiful and deadly. Its trees were the greenest Anthea had ever known, and yet even he would still be lost in their wilds from time to time. The clear blue waters had long protected its herd, leaving no murky water for strange and vicious beasts to hide in, but there were plenty of other ways for one to become a part of the earth. It was as much of a paradise as truly wild place could be, teeming with life and dangers. For as long as their herd had existed, they had cared for the swamp, protected it, and treasured it, but as all beautiful and wonderful things, it seemed that the swamp’s time had begun to pass. Anthea remembered the first day he had felt the sting of salt in his wonderful waters. He remembered when the edges of the swamp had begun to lose their luscious green, and tinge to brown.
The herd had originally refused to let their land die, and desperately began to build dams in hopes that it would stem the flow of salt water from the sea, but as time wore on, they had slowly begun to realize that there was no stopping the sea from taking their beloved home. It had been no singular realization that had sent the herd to disperse, but rather a gradual loss of hope for the future. One family would leave for better lands, then another, and another. The final few families had gathered, their numbers reduced from the large, populous herd they had been, to a mere thirteen. Anthea had been there, alongside his family and the rest. It had been a horrible night, the hart reduced to tears as he realized that even his own kin had lost hope for their land. They were fools, all of them. Hate rose up, hot and fierce. How dare they betray the land that had cared and kept them so well? How could they lose hope now, after so many disasters had demolished their homes, only for the swamp to heal? Nothing had ever been able to best his swamp, and nothing ever would! The hart turned his back on his kin, and child-hood friends. If they would leave, then they would leave without him.
Time would not wait for the swamp to heal, and carried on its ever endless march as the water began to grow murky, and the fish and plant life died. The wonderful place that had been green, and teeming with life soon turned brown, dry and dead. Through the seasons, food grew scarcer and scarcer, and even Anthea began to lose hope.
The hart stood in his once beautiful waters, belly long empty and bones prominent. Desperately, he had done his best to keep up the dams, but still the salt encroached, and steadily killed his home. His heart was breaking, and yet even his tears would only further poison his beloved home. They had been right.. There was no hope for the swamp, not when the sea was its enemy. Sorrowfully, even the hart was forced to forsaken his dieing, if not long dead land.

The journey had been hard, crossing lands so different from his beloved swamp. Its thick clay and water had made his legs strong, but without water he hart had begun to wilt. It hadn’t been long before he had encountered the flowers, and joined their journey. Listless, wilted and quiet, he said little, stuck in the same heartbroken daze he had worn since he had left his beloved home. He had lost all family, all friends, and all semblance of home…
The day they arrived in the hart lands was no joyous one for him. Just another dry forest, almost too cool for his tastes. He had no inclination to join the festive celebrations of reaching their new home. This was not home. The hart’s head hung low, his luscious mane flowing through the all too dry grasses, as even his tail began to dry and brown. But what was that? The scent tickled his nose, not unlike the crystalline waters he had not caught scent of in years. Skeptical, his ears perked and his head ever slightly lifted. The spring was crystal blue, cattails clustered about its rim. Tenderly, he dipped his hooves into the spring, its warmth soothing. A smile touched the Hart’s face as he flowed into its deep. Here. Here was home.

Temperament: Damaged
Story: Some days are better than others, but then again, it could always be so much worse. That’s what you tell yourself, trying to keep positive, but later when you’re ripping your insides apart from feelings of failure at being unable to make even one hart happy, you realize that’s nothing in comparison to when he completely ignores you.

You can take the glares of hatred, the bites that make you bleed, and the kicks that strike you down when something’s really got him angry. But when he won’t even look at you, those are the moments when your heart crumbles in your chest. It shouldn’t be a surprise when he walks past you, to the swamp you call home where he glares into the murky waters.

When no words are spoken you know that’s your cue to leave. Without making a single sound, just turn and go. For some reason, this is the worst pain you’ve ever known. You’re torn up inside, pulling your own heart apart asking why he didn’t want you. Why he didn’t need you.

But sometimes, he emits a soft grunt. That’s when you know you’re allowed to approach. Allowed to put one foot in front of the other, kneel at his side and stare down into the muck with him. You’ll sit in silence, listening to the occasional croak of a frog or the hum of a dragonfly’s wings. He never talks to you. Why would he? You’re disgusting.

But you don’t mind. This makes you happy. Just being close to him is enough.

Sometimes he’ll even lean over and press his nose into your hair. You know he loves your beautiful hair, so you always do your best to take special care of your mane. You go to the river every day to wash and groom yourself, even though there’s no point. More than once a day he’s kicked you into the mud and trampled over your body until it hurts just to breathe.

But these good moments are so few and far between.

Whoo! Boy do you guys have some good imaginations. I have to say that we really enjoyed reading your stories, but when it comes straight down to it, the one that grabbed us the most belonged to Ruriska.
So congratulations, Ruriska!