Hope its a [h o a x] to some

[soleil]

The flaxen femme weaved through the foliage,

her pillars stepped over logs as she went,

her pelt shimmering with aqua from the big blow,

she was in search of a cave or even a patch of extremely dense foliage,

in which to sleep,

she had not rested in days,

she slowed down as the rain turned to drizzle,

she shook her bodice in the hope to remove some of the excess water,

she had a sudden burst of energy,

she reared and kicked out at the air,

allowing a terrifying scream to be released,

stirring the surrounding creatures.

[Shalome]

<sup>The stallion's palomino coat was drenched in rain, his cranium hung low in annoyance, harks flicked back. He snorted irritably, hating the weather with a vengance, and decided that, when he died, the weather god would get a piece of his mind.

For the moment, though, there were more important things. Like the fact that he was almost positive he had heard the call of a femme, and, if not, he could smell her upon the breeze as his paperthins flared, taking in the went scent, snorting as rain entered his nasal passages, and breathed in again, pinpoingint her scent.

He picked up a trot, dial still low against the rain, pelt dripping. Finally the flaxen fem came into his vision, and he picked up a canter, raising his dial despite the precipitation falling wildly around him, and slowed as he drew nearer.

He dropped his crania in a slight bow and snorted, draining his passages of water. "Hello, fair maiden," he said softly, vocals deep and sympathetic. "I be Shalome, king of Glistening Lake. Might I be blessed with your calling?" he asked softly, voice just audible above the rain.</sup>