Colt
It's boots and chaps
It's cowboy hats
It's spurs and latigo
It's cowboy hats
It's spurs and latigo
It feels strange to see the expanse of vegetation again after such a long stretch of desolation and beige. It's vibrant and wild in a manner that promises of better conditions, like the final jewel at the end of a terrible dungeon of sweat and sand. It's not the rolling open green expanse of her home though, not an ocean of grass but a labyrinth of stalks and vines that press in like a living tunnel. The leaves and petals lick at her passing skin and snag at her legs and boots, and each brush forces her closer to him, unwilling to disturb something and let the jungle have her.
She leans against his neck, her hair splashing over his as she presses her face in against the vantablack hide. Her hands have left his mane and loop around to his chest, while her toes angle in unnaturally, curving under his belly. Unlike before, she hugs into him out of necessity rather than weariness, attempting to smooth out every angle her body might provide for ominous foliage to catch on. Only the pack remains a bit risky, but she's pulled it taut against her back and hopes they don't need to duck any lower than this.
As he hesitates, she lifts her head up to peer past him, and it seems like it's a throat they stare into rather than a path. Dense with shadow and leaf, it seems apt to swallow them. She dips her head back down, arms and calves pressing into him more with the quiet understanding that she might be tugged on here, and she should not let it sweep her off him.
She leans against his neck, her hair splashing over his as she presses her face in against the vantablack hide. Her hands have left his mane and loop around to his chest, while her toes angle in unnaturally, curving under his belly. Unlike before, she hugs into him out of necessity rather than weariness, attempting to smooth out every angle her body might provide for ominous foliage to catch on. Only the pack remains a bit risky, but she's pulled it taut against her back and hopes they don't need to duck any lower than this.
As he hesitates, she lifts her head up to peer past him, and it seems like it's a throat they stare into rather than a path. Dense with shadow and leaf, it seems apt to swallow them. She dips her head back down, arms and calves pressing into him more with the quiet understanding that she might be tugged on here, and she should not let it sweep her off him.
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.
