Desreal: Beauty comes in so many forms.

adapt or perish;
now as ever;
is nature`s inexorable imperative;

Rowan is an odd creature to be sure. For as she watches Micah coming closer, slowly; always slowly she takes a step back. She does not like the feeling that flutters in the pit of her stomach. Her golden eyes grow cautious again, and much like a feral cat she weaves through the forest all around him. It sings for her, the grass folding to her feet, the vines wrapping around her legs. The trees sway peacefully in the breeze, and the wind itself ruffled through the long ivory tendrils of her mane. She was like a wraith, a wisp in the forest. Too odd, too different to be truly real. And yet here she was, all youthful glory.

His voice stirs the pit of her stomach again, and her heart does a precariously large thump against her ribs. Rowan’s ears flatten a fraction. She was starting to dislike this stallion for making her body react in such odd ways. If it weren’t for the warm feeling floating in her blood she would have left him there. Alone. To wonder if she had ever been real. But she didn’t. Hadn’t. Couldn’t.

Now it is Rowan’s turn to take a careful step towards him, and then she is weaving through the trees that surround him. Feeling the earth that he has touched. Reading him, feeling him without the physical contact she feared more than anything. No one had touched her but the forest, and perhaps it was for the best. Rowan was flighty, and surely to feel Micah’s skin against her would send her running. And she really didn’t want to leave. So she came closer, closer still until the heat of their bodies passed on an invisible connection. Close, so close. Yet still so far away.

“Of course you like it. I picked it.”

her tone is so matter of fact that it seemed obvious to her that everyone should like her name. As if her choice must and would be liked by all because there was no other option. It wasn’t arrogant, but perhaps a tad naļve in the ways of others. But what can you expect from a loner?

“I never left.”

Again she assumes everyone must understand her cryptic language. She had never left because she had been born here, and she had died here. At least the little black foal her mother had left had died. Rowan was a new creature, one that had been raised by the forest. Alone. Always Alone.

” What of you Micah. What has brought you into my garden?”

Most often wanderers chose to avoid this place. So feral, so thick, It’s beauty kept hidden by thorns and thick trees. Encumbered by darkness, until you reached the small meadow the beautiful garden, and of course it’s mistress. Rowan. And so she fell silent, her golden eyes watching.

R O W A N

Slv. Zakr x Ap. Aian | Earth III