Desreal: Brisingr; the fire caller

She smelt the grass, the flowers—and upon the wind she could hear the singing of the insects which crawled amidst the flesh of the earth. She could see the swaying blades of grass and the birds flying within the sunny skies (but alas she pardons nothing and despises the winged things). Within her cold grey eyes she could see many things, hear them and reply, but she spoke differently… the earth trembling and curling amidst her feet speaking for her. She stands absolutely still, mindlessly looking out amidst the grassy fields and curious, but she turns back to the roaring darkness of Desreal. It embraces her, quivering as she walks within the shadow and brings with her black ash upon the soil where she walks. Her grey eyes penetrate the regions darkness, and coolly she finds herself pressing her body against a strange tree; it scratches and digs against her skin. The parasitic things which crawl upon her flesh are smothered, and pressed away by the tree.

The things beneath her sun golden fur bite and itch, and with a simple wave of her earthen power they die, falling off of her as she shakes. Her curled and messy mane and tail hang matted and tangled, and dead laves cling to the moisture on her ankles and the parts of her hooves. She walks with a bizarre swagger, a sort of unbalanced and drunkardly sway; but alas not everyone is graceful. She approaches Brisingr from the side, barely noticing the mare until she feels the flicker of fire beneath her flesh: her element whispering strangely at her feet. She is pulled, paused and stopped, curious why the mare stands; flames glowing and alone within the middle lands. The sun golden mare takes her time, clearing her throat and speaking rather slowly, “Aye,” she says, her voice heavily accented and broken up, she sounds obtrusively Scottish, “It’s not best fer ye to be alone out here.” She smiles; trust her—monsters know about monsters.