// Different night, same rodeo //
She slides to a stop before the unicorn gelding, boots slick with cold swamp and balance a teetering thing that she doesn't have time to bother with. She lurches forward, hauling herself steady against the tree, but it all puts him on alert. Hands thick with gloves fumble in her haste to untie the steed, leather dragging and catching on old bark, drawn taut as the unicorn's head surges back, balking at all her abrupt movements. "Ho," she snaps at him, gaze flicking over at the horn like she's daring him to make a stupid choice right now.
The simple tie gives—it would have sooner if she'd undone it correctly—and Colt is looping the lead across his neck and back around into makeshift reins. She'd not meant to ride him, and even the rigging on his back is for hauling, not sitting, but she'll make do. Clambering up with the help of the tree and some effort, Colt kicks him into motion. His stride is urgent with the energy she's fed him, but it's wary as he steps and squelches over the bog, the kind that's coiled tight just under hide and hair and ready to come undone in a blink. His head keeps high, ears twisting back and forth with a worry he hasn't been able to pinpoint but is sure of with the way she is.
Meanwhile, Alys' tricks have worked well, the less than intelligent creature corralled by sense and instinct. Its body ripples with uncertainty, a hardwired need to avoid more of this pain, to survive, giving it quick actions that makes it slow at the image of danger up ahead in her scent. It also depends on the pattern of its herd, but its lost sight of them with its slow gait, and this new reality is sinking in, that it's got the predator now between it and the others, so it starts to turn back.
The simple tie gives—it would have sooner if she'd undone it correctly—and Colt is looping the lead across his neck and back around into makeshift reins. She'd not meant to ride him, and even the rigging on his back is for hauling, not sitting, but she'll make do. Clambering up with the help of the tree and some effort, Colt kicks him into motion. His stride is urgent with the energy she's fed him, but it's wary as he steps and squelches over the bog, the kind that's coiled tight just under hide and hair and ready to come undone in a blink. His head keeps high, ears twisting back and forth with a worry he hasn't been able to pinpoint but is sure of with the way she is.
Meanwhile, Alys' tricks have worked well, the less than intelligent creature corralled by sense and instinct. Its body ripples with uncertainty, a hardwired need to avoid more of this pain, to survive, giving it quick actions that makes it slow at the image of danger up ahead in her scent. It also depends on the pattern of its herd, but its lost sight of them with its slow gait, and this new reality is sinking in, that it's got the predator now between it and the others, so it starts to turn back.
Colt
// Set me on fire, put me out like smoke //
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.
