COLT
Usually a drink will do the trick
Take the edge off quick
A long gone drive, you know the kind
Where you take a turn and you don't know why
But it clears your mind, a surefire cure
Take the edge off quick
A long gone drive, you know the kind
Where you take a turn and you don't know why
But it clears your mind, a surefire cure
Colt nods at Lena's suggestion, more than happy to leave the wildlife to the zoo's caretaker. Colt has a mind for critter care, but it definitely doesn't compare, not unless it moos or neighs. "Birds are alllll you!" she calls out, overly chipper with the shift of responsibility as she swings her horse around and heads back to where she'd seen the dead trees.
They return at a lope, not needing the slower speed for looking as much as the quick removal of distance to finish the task at hand and move onto the next. The familiar cluster of branches and shadow reappears soon enough, causing leather and steed alike to groan as the pace quickly tucks into a graceless slow and eventual halt. She slips from the saddle in a single motion, reins tossed over her shoulder as she rummages in a saddle bag for the best marker she can think of.
"This shit always proves useful," she tells Chip as she pulls out a bundle of baling twine, leftovers from an opened bale some other day. The threads are vibrant and sturdy, capable of weathering out here until the contractors come, and too bright to be lost easily. She slips a pocket knife between her teeth as Chip and her weave into the small copse. A few knots and some flashes of the blade and each tree is neatly marked with neon tails that flutter off the dead limbs like the worst gift wrapping.
"That should do it," she tells Chip with a nod of approval as she stuffs the rest of the twine back into the saddlebag, but the knife she slips between her right pantleg and boot, half expecting she might need it again.
Colt marks the dead trees with baling twine
They return at a lope, not needing the slower speed for looking as much as the quick removal of distance to finish the task at hand and move onto the next. The familiar cluster of branches and shadow reappears soon enough, causing leather and steed alike to groan as the pace quickly tucks into a graceless slow and eventual halt. She slips from the saddle in a single motion, reins tossed over her shoulder as she rummages in a saddle bag for the best marker she can think of.
"This shit always proves useful," she tells Chip as she pulls out a bundle of baling twine, leftovers from an opened bale some other day. The threads are vibrant and sturdy, capable of weathering out here until the contractors come, and too bright to be lost easily. She slips a pocket knife between her teeth as Chip and her weave into the small copse. A few knots and some flashes of the blade and each tree is neatly marked with neon tails that flutter off the dead limbs like the worst gift wrapping.
"That should do it," she tells Chip with a nod of approval as she stuffs the rest of the twine back into the saddlebag, but the knife she slips between her right pantleg and boot, half expecting she might need it again.
Colt marks the dead trees with baling twine
I need somethin' stronger
That'll last a little longer
I could use a love song
That'll last a little longer
I could use a love song
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.
