COLT
Her breath feels held the entire time she moves about the pegasus, which can’t be right or else she’d have passed out, but she doesn’t remember taking a full exchange of air since laying her palm on the sleek hide. The power contained beneath had been felt instantly, and there’s always something reverent about being able to harness that for herself, however brief, winged or not. This one though, it hums with a force that keeps her grin on full display now.
She catches the subtle ways the mare allows but does not fully surrender. A current of acceptance that doesn’t speak to anything being broken, only bent. ”You’re something special, aren’t you,” she murmurs as she moves through the process of tacking up with a care not normally afforded to those she expects to yield to it. This feels less like a partnership practiced, more like a truce being maintained, and one she doesn’t mean to strain in any way she could avoid.
She talks her through each piece of equipment, explaining it and the purpose as if everything would be understood. Nerves, maybe, that keeps her voice running, or maybe an excitement too rare for her to properly name. By the time she gets to the bridle though, Colt pauses. It feels like it might be a strain too much, like there’s something to relying on a little trust right now, and allowing some of the wind to maintain its control. ”I hope I don’t regret this,” she whispers, setting the bridle back with Biscuit, and her spurs and hat for that matter. Beyond, tangleweeds roll by as the breeze stirs, seeming to beckon her onward. The thorny plants are far enough away not to concern her now, so Colt reaches to untie the pegasus’ halter lead.
Straightening out her packs and looping the lead over the top of the mare’s neck, Colt is as ready as she’ll ever be to cloud jump. ”Here goes nothing,” she says around a puff of breath, her boot slipping into her stirrup and a small hop swinging her up and onto the back, mindful of the feathers as her other leg slides into place on the other side. She shifts, exhaling with it, and then glances forward from her survey of the mare’s withers. ”Alright, let’s go,” she encourages with a small squeeze of her calves.
She catches the subtle ways the mare allows but does not fully surrender. A current of acceptance that doesn’t speak to anything being broken, only bent. ”You’re something special, aren’t you,” she murmurs as she moves through the process of tacking up with a care not normally afforded to those she expects to yield to it. This feels less like a partnership practiced, more like a truce being maintained, and one she doesn’t mean to strain in any way she could avoid.
She talks her through each piece of equipment, explaining it and the purpose as if everything would be understood. Nerves, maybe, that keeps her voice running, or maybe an excitement too rare for her to properly name. By the time she gets to the bridle though, Colt pauses. It feels like it might be a strain too much, like there’s something to relying on a little trust right now, and allowing some of the wind to maintain its control. ”I hope I don’t regret this,” she whispers, setting the bridle back with Biscuit, and her spurs and hat for that matter. Beyond, tangleweeds roll by as the breeze stirs, seeming to beckon her onward. The thorny plants are far enough away not to concern her now, so Colt reaches to untie the pegasus’ halter lead.
Straightening out her packs and looping the lead over the top of the mare’s neck, Colt is as ready as she’ll ever be to cloud jump. ”Here goes nothing,” she says around a puff of breath, her boot slipping into her stirrup and a small hop swinging her up and onto the back, mindful of the feathers as her other leg slides into place on the other side. She shifts, exhaling with it, and then glances forward from her survey of the mare’s withers. ”Alright, let’s go,” she encourages with a small squeeze of her calves.
Wild horse out the gate
Yeah your heart about to break
She the type of woman that gon' make you lose control
She something wild, you might need a lasso
Yeah your heart about to break
She the type of woman that gon' make you lose control
She something wild, you might need a lasso
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.
