Colt
I know it's a drag, I know it's a grind
I know that a dollar ain't worth a dime
I know you get tired, I know you get down
I know you get sick of this soul-sucking town
I know that a dollar ain't worth a dime
I know you get tired, I know you get down
I know you get sick of this soul-sucking town
The bastard beasts had been spotted last time she'd come back from the market, off on a distance hill, but with tracks too close to the main road to leave them be. She might have just told someone else and gone about her day, but with all the fires around as of late, hands were on a bit of short supply. The Family might be gone, but these ghosts of their blight remain, and well isn't that exactly what she'd been fucking working on lately? Brushing up on rusty skills to make something more than just a mild dent when push came to shove? Not to mention, she's a little curious to see what Frey's gift will actually do against something other than a dummy or a fat, grain-stealing rat.
She'd called for his help, though. An excuse really. Not playing damsel in distress, just damsel in need of backup. Damsel in need of seeing his face again, by whatever half-assed reason she could devise, since just saying it outright is a little too honest.
The day is storm-tossed, the wind gusting in stronger than she'd prefer, but the nearby coast isn't helping. Hopefully as they get further into the slope of meadow some of the gale will have worn itself out. She's working on buttoning up her tan jacket against the tug of the breeze, back set to the wind, head tilted to keep her hat from flying off her braid. "I saw 'em up over there," she murmurs to him with a motion of her hand to a rise beyond the dock they're on. "Three corrupted unicorns from what I could tell." Her hand slips back to her buttons, Biscuit snorting lazily at her side. The mare will be staying tied here, they don't need the added height and the noise alerting the unicorns when they're not ready. She hopes to make this as undramatic of a show as possible, in and out with enough time to grab lunch like it's any other day.
She'd called for his help, though. An excuse really. Not playing damsel in distress, just damsel in need of backup. Damsel in need of seeing his face again, by whatever half-assed reason she could devise, since just saying it outright is a little too honest.
The day is storm-tossed, the wind gusting in stronger than she'd prefer, but the nearby coast isn't helping. Hopefully as they get further into the slope of meadow some of the gale will have worn itself out. She's working on buttoning up her tan jacket against the tug of the breeze, back set to the wind, head tilted to keep her hat from flying off her braid. "I saw 'em up over there," she murmurs to him with a motion of her hand to a rise beyond the dock they're on. "Three corrupted unicorns from what I could tell." Her hand slips back to her buttons, Biscuit snorting lazily at her side. The mare will be staying tied here, they don't need the added height and the noise alerting the unicorns when they're not ready. She hopes to make this as undramatic of a show as possible, in and out with enough time to grab lunch like it's any other day.
Let's make a little lemonade if lemons is all we got
Sunset's like a tangerine, let's find a road we've never seen
Don't waste another mile or a minute not kissin' me
Life is short, make it sweet
Sunset's like a tangerine, let's find a road we've never seen
Don't waste another mile or a minute not kissin' me
Life is short, make it sweet
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.
