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Post by Lavender on Oct 30, 2011 8:45:35 GMT -5
•• NIDREVKA.
Sand was forced to flow through the air as the winds carried them there. And the dark female stepped out of the very small sand storm as an angel, fallen to the hard and unforgiving soil of the cruel earth. But Nidrevka was everything but an angel, maybe from the outside, but her inside was dark. Her steps were toughtfull, precise, elegant. Her head raised in a dainty way while the cold winter air was making her mane dancing around her ears. One could easily fall for her charms and looks, but she could make them fall real hard in love when she would speak those pretty lies of hers. Carefully chosen, precisely picked out and before speaking them mulling them over in her mind as if she was tasting a fine, red wine.
And red, the color of passion, the color of bleeding, anger, love. Games. Such things which she happened to love. Anger, an emotion which some would call pathetic or an action out of syncope, frustration - Nidrevka thought it was an emotion which brought you to higher levels, giving them the courage they always needed. Almost equivalent to love, the border between anger and love was so thin. Love, it's just a game. Fragile, weak brutes were so easily drawn into Nidrevka's dangerous game of love. Of course, those little fillies were just another little toy. Yet, Nidrevka was different - they were her toys. Then, the line between anger and love would be called: passion. Pure passion, the only thing which the female loved so much. Passion: dangerous, destructing, pleasure. Nidrevka was the mistress of passion, she governed the tango - the dance of passion.
Walking across the boundary of the Plains, still in deep thoughts, she found the waters. Greedily she trotted over to them, taking a few sips. She closed her eyes as she felt the water caressing her throat, her lips. Such a satisfying feeling.
The mare gazed at her reflection, tossing her mane in an elegant manner before she turned around on her hind legs with surprising agility and suplesse. Galopping away, a soft whinny rolling over her lips in a sultry way. Come one, come all.
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