Pick apart /
The pieces of your heart /
And let me peer inside.
— Gotye





Ghanima, her fluffy chocolate coat adorned with a dusting of frost, moved with a graceful silence through the late winter woods. The moon above had lost some of its luster, its glow dimmed by the season, but it still managed to cast elongated shadows from the skeletal trees that loomed around her. 

On tall, slender legs, as dark as the deepest shadows of the forest, she navigated this dimly lit realm. The night had not yet surrendered to dawn, and a chill clung to the air.

What she wouldn't give to feel the warmth in her belly on the surface of her skin!

Fireflies which had enchanted her during warmer nights were absent now, their bioluminescent dances hidden away until spring's return. Instead, she found solace in the silence of the woods.

The moon, a pale and distant companion, had no solace to offer her tonight; it shone bright and cold, full in its splendor as she was in its thrall.

Her body would not rest 'til the goddess was sated. Tonight, every sensation against her skin felt like a blend of icy winds and smoldering embers.

As she ventured deeper into the forest, Ghanima felt herself on the precipice of temptation — again.

Was this to be her lot? Forever cast aside, forever aimless, forever unsatisfied?



notes: hello it me ur friendly neighborhood coward, pimping for personal gain
tags: birdorcages (denver)

D E N V E R

lay my poor bones past appalachain stones

---

Sick of these cold nights, sick of the way frost crept over his spine, Denver found himself restless. He exhaled, annoyed in the way his nostrils even seemed frozen, and the stallion opted to forefit sleep in favor of waiting for what little warmth the dawn would soon bring.

There was something about the utter silence, however, that he found some solace in - there was peace. Solitude. He could be grateful for his loneliness; being left to his own meditation, though, admittedly he had begun to feel relatively aimless lately. Not to say he was hardly ever aimless, but . . . he supposed at a certain point he had begun to feel a bit stuck in his routines. Not so eager for change necessarily, but perhaps, not as willing to run from it, should it present itself.

He trotted swiftly between the trees, hoping to awaken something, whether it be his freezing bones, or perhaps some sort of epiphany, Denver was easily unopposed - but he found it hard to believe he might find the answer in the cold and the dark.

His pace slowed when he realized he'd nearly passed another equine entirely; didn't want to be rude, at least pausing to acknowledge her. Denver had to admit, he was curious as to what the mare might have been doing wandering about in the dark like this. "'scuse me. Didn't see ya' there." He couldn't quite make out much of her face, but her eyes certainly managed to draw him in. Bold against a dark fame, striking. He was quick to forget himself, offering a word of comfort instead of continuing on. "Y' alright?"

---

- winter, year 1, #272, hazel , mystery dating game -

Let me in /
Where only your thoughts have been
— Gotye






When she was a little girl, moving with the herd as they often did to rotate summer grazing, they'd passed through a wood like this one, once. Ghanima remembered the occasion now, with the hair on her back standing proud — partly from the cold, partly from the knowledge that she was tempting fate, and hoping to be tempted in return.

Never answer a voice when you can't see the speaker, her mother had warned her as they entered a thick, dark copse full of trees so ancient they seemed more like gods than pieces of scenery. There were spirits in the old trees like this, lost souls wandering the woods for eternity: they were not of this world nor the next but were caught in between, suspended in the liminal spaces of the ancient woods. These spirits bore no physical form, and their voices were like the mournful wails of the wind through the trees. They called out to the wanderers, their ethereal voices echoing through the thickets, singing songs of sorrow and despair.

Beware, Mama whispered, for the spirits had a wicked sense of mischief. They could mimic the voices of loved ones, the cries of children, or the desperate pleas of a traveler lost in the woods. Their purpose was to lure the curious and the unwary deeper into the forest, into their realm of shadows and half-truths. Those who answered the voices of the spirits would become ensnared in their web of deceit. The woods would close in around them, the once-familiar paths twisting into confusing labyrinths. Time itself would warp, leaving them lost and disoriented, wandering for days that felt like eternities.

Mama said the spirits reveled in this torment, feeding on the fear and confusion of their victims. Father claimed they were the lost souls of those who had perished in the wilderness, their bitterness and anguish manifesting as malevolent spirits. Mama insisted they were ancient guardians of the forests, protectors of the hidden wonders that lay deep within. As they walked, Mama told little Ghani of those who had encountered the spirits and emerged from the woods forever changed: some were driven to madness by the haunting voices that lingered in their minds, while others spoke of newfound wisdom, having glimpsed the secrets of the natural world that the spirits guarded so jealously.

But the warning remained clear: never answer a voice when you can't see the speaker. For in those shadowy depths, where the boundaries between this world and the next blurred, the spirits waited, their eerie songs echoing through time, a reminder of the mysteries that still dwell in the heart of the wood.

And wasn't she offering herself up on a silver platter to them now?

Perhaps he was a trick of theirs.

Upon first sight her eyes widened in shock — and then with a huff of breath that left her nostrils in a little cloud of vapor, Ghanima realized her mistake.

He reminded her of the other one, just a little, just enough that her first look at him had nearly stolen the breath from her lungs. Red like fire, white like snow.

A dark apparition of a man long forgotten, recalled now, corrupted through the hazy lens of time.

She slowed her legs as he slowed his, reaching her delicate head to him on her swan's neck. "I'm chasing moonlight," she told him, alluding to the fire that had been burning through her veins for the last several days.

Her eyes flickered to the splashes of white on his barrel.

"But it seems you have already caught her."




notes: if pimpin is wrong i dont wanna be right
tags: birdorcages (denver)

D E N V E R

lay my poor bones past appalachain stones

---

There was something else here, something intangible. Denver wasn't particularly sensitive to these sorts of things, however. It might've been lurking in the shadows, looming over him like a predatory bird, and he probably would not have noticed even if it had gone for his throat. He was the sort of stallion who had always taken situations at face value; any sort of fated encounter was just an encounter, and nothing less. He had been raised on a complete lack of belief systems, after all. Nothing ever happened because of the good or the bad - they just happened, and nothing could be done to overturn tides, or take back what had already transpired. This certainly made him a lack of understanding when it came down to his emotions, of which he hardly had much control over as it was. Fortunately he wasn't the sort of beast to have a short temper; he'd seen creatures get in fights over their own survival, whereas he maintained the mentality that if a beast should so desperately desire some food that he'd look to kill to get it . . . Denver would much rather step out of the way.

He'd seen his kind fighting over mares too.

He couldn't claim to know the feeling, and again, he couldn't sense what was beginning to boil over here. But the stallion was drawn in by it nonetheless. Completely unaware of his own undoing, and entranced by the way her eyes stood out - those eyes, the only sign that such a creature even existed before him. Her scent sliced through the bitter winter air, further drawing her in. Perhaps she was some lorelei of the night, sent to tease him for some cruel sick joke from the spirits of the past who have decided to haunt him here.

Denver wasn't entirely sure what she was talking about; gaze briefly glancing for the sky, searching for the moon between knotted branches, he only passively how the light struggled to reach them through such vines. Hell, if she were looking to find moonlight or something, she should have gone to some clearing instead this dense forest; snorting at the absurdity of it, he gazed at her confused for a moment, attempting to decode her verbiage.

Perhaps reference to his coat then, frigid patches of white splashed against his own frame - this tall, ebony enchantress had the advantage of being able to remain hidden amongst the bushes and weeds, yet she made her presence known to him. If this was an attempt to make idle conversation, by pure nature he was opposed to it. Simply didn't care for it. Though, this time he didn't simply turn and leave, finding himself incapable of moving another step - unless it was closer to her.

Still, Denver thought the comment to be a little . . . out there.

"Not sure what y' mean by that, but uh . . . doesn't seem like chasin' something y' can't touch is very productive."

It was her gaze, it had to be. The stallion couldn't stop himself, couldn't keep from talking to her, almost clinging desperately to the conversation. He just kept going. "It's much more satisfyin' when y' actually have somethin' to catch."

---

- winter year 1, #530, hazel , SPEED DATE SPEED DATE  -

Let me occupy your mind /
As you do mine
— Gotye






Ghanima tilted her head, her sapphire eyes locked onto his, reflecting the moonlight like twin beacons in the night. She knew she must speak carefully, for the forest held secrets, and if he were a trick of the spirits she was resolved not to slip on her own sloppy tongue.

A sliver of a smile danced upon her lips as she drew a step closer, her breath forming delicate puffs of mist in the chilly air. "Mm, a pragmatist," she purred, her voice low and velvety as the night around them. "Then tell me, stranger — what are you chasing now?"

Her words hung in the air, heavy with suggestion. She was unskilled in the art of seduction, but the pull of the moon loosened her tongue just as surely as it lit the fire pooling low in her belly.

And besides, this stallion was an intrigue: Ghanima had never been one to believe in coincidence, and she was not about to convert now. It would be an insult to him, and to fate, and perhaps even to the spirits of the forest to think even for a moment that they were not destined to meet in this place, in this way.




notes: hashtag pimpin ain't easy
tags: birdorcages (denver)

D E N V E R

lay my poor bones past appalachain stones

---

"Oh, uh, nothin'." He hadn't actually considered himself on a hunt of any kind. Though, perhaps he was just completely unaware that he was on one at all - Denver clearly couldn't read a signal despite it standing right before him. No consideration for any of it, actually, despite how he had already become so entangled in the dance itself.

"Just tryin' to shake off the cold, I suppose." It was the only answer he could give her, and honestly a truth. He easily grew tired of such frigid nights, and it was difficult for any lone creature to keep themselves warm. Though, as he watched breath escape when she spoke, he briefly considered how unfair, how cruel it was that the cold should continue to taunt him as it allowed her fire to dissipate before his very eyes. She was a flame alright, though a dark enchantress - she burned hot.

He questioned himself; why should he encounter her now? This mare was unlike any he had ever come to know before. Not that he kept himself aquainted with mares at all. But there was still something so interesting to him about her. Couldn't quite put his hoof on it. Didn't care to think on it. There was only one way this was going to end, though he clearly hadn't gotten that far with his cognizance.

Denver remained still, allowing her to approach - not quite considering how close she may have been willing to get, but easily unopposed. He absentmindly longed for the warmth she could give . . . but for now, all he offered was idle conversation. "Spring ain't that far off now."

---

- winter year 1, #271, hazel , 😉 -

Your heart's a mess /
You won't admit to it
— Gotye






What struck her most now was the stark difference between this stranger, broad and strong and stoic and taciturn, and the only other stallion she'd ever thought of as a suitor.

That one was barely more than a ghost in her memory now; she remembered more about the way he smelled, the way he made her feel than what he'd looked like or the words he'd said. She remembered him as being dark and fiery, like this one, with striking white mixed into his coat to draw the eye — like this one...

And there, perhaps, the similarities ended. The cycle of the moon pulled her blood low and made her ache in desperation, and when she'd met the other one months ago in the same state, he'd taken to her as though it were the most natural thing in the world. He made her nearly forget herself within the span of a single breath, like wildfire stealing the air from her lungs.

There was a flame in this one, too, but it was perhaps more of an ember, flickering capriciously in her breeze — shall I light? Shall I perish?

Spring ain't that far off now, he said, as if reading her mind, teasing her.

Alight! Alight!

And all at the same time, Ghanima felt a rush of compassion for her gentleman, and remembered a song her mother liked to sing on dark winter evenings while they watched the lights dancing, and nearly broke into laughter at her own hopelessness.

Instead, she broke into song, her voice low and quiet, a bemused smile on her dainty lips.

"For winter's rains and ruins are over,
And all the season of snows and sins;
The days dividing lover and lover,
The light that loses, the night that wins;
And time remembered is grief forgotten,
And frosts are slain and flowers begotten,
And in green underwood and cover
Blossom by blossom the spring begins."

The melody was a lilting sort of tune, meant to be sung amongst friends. It was a song of her foalhood, and it tickled her how sweetly the lyrics could be spun to paint an image of the two of them, here, tonight.




notes: something about pimping & also the poem she sings is from algernon charles swinburne i cannot write verse lmao
tags: birdorcages (denver)

D E N V E R

lay my poor bones past appalachain stones

---

Her song seemed to lull him into a sense of calm. It was . . . oddly comforting. He could close his eyes, and envision himself elsewhere, thoughts traveling to memories where he spent his earliest cold nights curled up beside his mother. His dam had always been a bit of a touchy subject, if only for the betrayal he'd faced at the mercy of his sire - but in his foalhood, he could reminisce on his fondest memories. Around this time of year she would pull him in closer, rest her head over his small frame just to keep the chill from bothering him - he realized later, how she sacrificed her own body heat just to keep him comfortable, keep him alive.

She too would entice him to sleep with sweet, gentle lullabies. . .

It was the comfort he was most drawn to. What he would soon come to realize he desired most. She had somehow managed to bring him to such an epiphany, and the stallion seemed to have lost control of himself from there. Denver found himself intensely drawn to the mare before him, so uncharacteristic of the sort of beast he was, but at this point he didn't care. It didn't matter. All that mattered to him was her, breathing her scent in, sharing her warmth, offering himself to her.

The stallion made his approach then, his gaze keeping a close eye on if she chose to pull away; he would have left her be, then.  He seemed to worry, maybe projecting the idea that she couldn't take the cold any longer. He made a move toward her side, his chin gently brushing along the curvature of her back, carefully allowing his head to come to rest over her. As she continued to offer her tune, Denver listened intently, and for a moment caught on with the tune's melody, gently humming along in his own baritone.

This flame flickered gently, soon ready to catch, spread, consume.

---

- winter year 1, #325, hazel , alexa play let's get it on -

It makes no sense /
But I'm desperate to connect
— Gotye






They were close enough now that she could see the bright cerulean color of his eyes, pale and clear even in this frosty winter gloom. Her own blue orbs regarded him with heavy-lidded curiosity as he finally closed the gap between them; she inhaled his scent, hiding nothing of the action from him. She wore a languid, gratified expression and dared to weave her way alongside him and under his chin, desperation burning through her skin from the inside out.

This was the response she'd been seeking; this was the feeling she'd been chasing. The touch of his lips to her back sent electricity coursing through her veins, tingling at the tips of her toes and buzzing at her lips.

The mare murmured in her lover's ear, something rather less words than a series of noises of soft acquiescence. She exhaled something like a sigh, and opened her eyes, looking at him through the heavy veil of her black lashes.

There, she wanted to say, You see? You can touch me.

She did not dare.

He was so close to giving her what her body most desired, and she did not trust her own voice not to break the spell the song had cast. Ghanima drew just head of him on long, slender legs, savoring the warmth of her flesh sliding against his.

What are you chasing now?




notes: it really do be pimpin ma
tags: birdorcages (denver)

D E N V E R

lay my poor bones past appalachain stones

---

He was easily caught within a whirwind of feeling, emotion. Very unlike anything he had experienced before, and certainly not something he thought he would ever see in his lifetime. Who was this incredible woman? How had she so easily managed to slither into the deepest parts of his mind, entrapping him in in this dance? Would he have cared as much if he had caught glimpse of her in the daylight? Mystery shrouded such curiosities as Denver further removed himself from any sensible thoughts. He took things slowly, carefully, not wanting her to take any sort of offense in retaliation. Breathing slowly, and closing his eyes as she whispered in his ear, the stallion traced himself across her spine, simply satisfied enough to find some comfort in her body heat . . . but the flame continued to grow, and Denver soon realized he wanted more.

In the moment, he wanted her. All of her.

She had her answer, he supposed.  No longer did he find himself running toward something far greater than what he had - he had already captured her. 

He didn't allow himself to worry about the trivial things - they were well into it at that point, overtaken by some intense force of nature that had ultimately entwined them in such courtship. All he knew was, she had given herself over to him completely, and with little reluctance, Denver chose to stake claim. He had claimed her for his own, in turn allowing nature to take course beneath the pale glow of moonlight.

---

- winter year 1, #253, hazel , pimp with a capital p -