Colt
It's boots and chaps
It's cowboy hats
It's spurs and latigo
It's cowboy hats
It's spurs and latigo
She's oblivious to the silence he slides through, some part of him cut off when so much is also already changed for him with the different forms. That seems hard enough—senses morphing, anatomy altering, instincts threading anew. She can't imagine what it's like, having only known her body, her mind, her connection with the world around her. Even so, for all her uncertainty of what he endures, she's appreciative of it, happy even, to have him in a form she's so at peace with that it's effortless to join him in this insanity amidst the sands.
As he noses at her boot she wiggles it in turn. Hey, don't fucking bite me," she warns, all to accustomed to curious babies mouthing her legs instead of paying attention to their own. "Don't worry, I won't kick you," she promises, hand patting his neckline with gentle reassurance. At least, she doesn't intent to, muscle memory might take over in the heat of the moment if things get hairy. That thought feels distant as the desert stretches like eternity around them, dusk draping beauty against the harshness, hiding it with a sigh of early stars who's light seems to wink for the stallion.
His stride is like silk beneath her, smooth and easy, and any remaining tension fades into the sound of his hooves drumming like rain against the dry land. He shifts gears, his power a nearly tangible current of midnight that seems to carry the descent of night to the world. She grins as she rocks in tempo with him, leaning further up on his neck to let the dark wind cut over her and not slow him. It feels like freedom.
As he noses at her boot she wiggles it in turn. Hey, don't fucking bite me," she warns, all to accustomed to curious babies mouthing her legs instead of paying attention to their own. "Don't worry, I won't kick you," she promises, hand patting his neckline with gentle reassurance. At least, she doesn't intent to, muscle memory might take over in the heat of the moment if things get hairy. That thought feels distant as the desert stretches like eternity around them, dusk draping beauty against the harshness, hiding it with a sigh of early stars who's light seems to wink for the stallion.
His stride is like silk beneath her, smooth and easy, and any remaining tension fades into the sound of his hooves drumming like rain against the dry land. He shifts gears, his power a nearly tangible current of midnight that seems to carry the descent of night to the world. She grins as she rocks in tempo with him, leaning further up on his neck to let the dark wind cut over her and not slow him. It feels like freedom.
It's the ropes and the reins
And the joy and the pain
And they call the thing rodeo
And the joy and the pain
And they call the thing rodeo
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
