CONFINEMENT ,

[talulah]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 395px; height: 350px; background-image:url('http://i.imgur.com/s25DZ.png');] though the world seemed to come across as a somewhat pearlescent grey, with alternating spikes of shade and light as they happened across the scenery, tarquin was admittedly rather relaxed. a lack of sight should have amounted to consistent fear and distrust of his surroundings, but the stallion knew his way around his chosen home to a certain extent. he knew, for example, that the beach was directly to his left, and that if he travelled in a straight line for many strides, he would eventually find his hooves immersed in the saline solution that was the sea. he knew that should he back out of such a predicament, left leg then right leg, he would be standing upon the salt-slicked sand, leaving imprints from where his sheer weight and the forces of gravity would press tracks upon the shore. should he turn, then, perhaps to his right, or if he was feel exceptionally brave, to his left, then he would be upon the dry sand again. sand that occasionally was as cold as the bitter winds of the plains during the winter, or were as hot as a desert, or so, what he imagined a desert would be like, should he have the opportunity to stand upon one. it was here that he would have to take care not to trip upon driftwood, or tangle his cornets into a medusa's head of seaweed, as so to prevent a tumble into the soft ground. he knew, that should he continue to his right, and away from the hollow that he called home, he would eventually reach the bluffs. occasionally, when he felt even braver than usual, he would begin the trek up the tumbled, granite faces, pausing when he was a mere meter or so off the ground and feeling the sensation of vertigo set in. he hadn't yet found the will to go any higher, not while the will to live was so strong within him. instead, the flaxen stallion would simply back down the path, taking care not to bump his soft muzzle against the rocks as he snuffled his way along, using sensation to guide him to safety. he knew, that should he continue left and back to the hollow, that there was a small dip and rise of a hill, before he would be heading back to the basin. here, travelling was difficult, as the flatness of the plains could be deceiving - a higher deity only knew what was hiding in the grass that he was tramping to. it was here that his knowledge of the west began to become a little lacking, as if his imagination had suddenly been ignited and discarded, leaving the shriveled blackness of a keen mind behind. vaguely, he knew that the woodland was a little more to the east, and that beyond that, lay a very large river. tarquin had had a period of time where he had lived in the forest, however a terrible accident had rendered him afraid of the clusters of trees and their hidden pit falls. once, when he had been merely two years of age, his mother had gently guided him across the plains, away from the basin and between the trees, to the roaring river that sliced through the grasslands. it had been here that a new chieftain had been elected, however tarquin had been too young and too confused to accept this as common knowledge. the sounds and smells had been far too new, with the tramp, brays, growls and squeals of other animals making him erratic and spontaneous. he had been so young, and yet, he had known that beyond that river lay a great forest, a place that was two parts onimous as well as two parts intriguing. however, it had been four, long years since he had gone that far east, and the large stallion was simply too afraid to manage the journey alone. he needed a companion, of sorts, someone to become his eyes, however he kept far enough away from the other tribes and herds, mostly in accidental solitude. simply put, tarquin had learnt his hollow better than any other place in his life, and as a result, was reluctant to leave it. for that reason, the only hide or hair of other creatures that the male "saw" was that of the summer travellers. they, like the stallion himself, were aware of the properties that the bay possessed in order to aid in the cooling down during the dead heat. some of these travellers amused tarquin, answering his pressed questions for news as to what was occurring up north, describing to him the sights and sounds they had come across whilst travelling, and informing him of newcomers from the other territories. he retained those slivers of information like they were all that was keeping him alert on those lazy days, spinning them into fantastical stories that kept the young ones awake at night, just for a want to hear tarquin speak. he had never seen these landscapes, or witnessed those occurences, but the equine had the intelligence and creativity to come up with these descriptions alone. however, with the start of the cooler weather, he was undeniably left once again - alone, loitering in his hollow and growing his thick, winter scruff in order to save him from the freezing conditions of the colder months. it was at times like those that he would murmur to himself, conjuring up identities, acquaintances and stories in order to amuse his hungry mind. occasionally, he would be silent, as the madness behind talking to oneself disconcerted him immensely. yet, the underlying fact was that tarquin was so, so very lonely. there were times where he imagined that he was the only one on the plains, the only one left in that forsaken land, yet unable to leave, and consequently sentenced to a fruitless life and dying alone. such thoughts often distressed him, and in that moment, the male was pursing his lips as he lifted his sightless eyes to the gunmetal sky above him. " hark, says you raven? hark what, may i ask? " unravelling his flaxen limbs, the male rose slowly, feeling the cold of the winter beginning to seep into his otherwise lively bones. he was only six moons old, in reality, even though he couldn't tell what was day and what was night much in those days. winter tended to make everything a muted grey, which was disconcerting in itself. as the sensation returned back to his legs, tarquin shook, twitching the frost from his skin as he continued to stare upwards, wondering if the bird above was capable of the western dialect. " what of the north, raven, good sir? what of the snow? how deep, how deep now, says you? " though, a response was not sounded as the bird spun away, following the rise and fall of the air and drifting to the east. again, tarquin was left alone. breathing a tremendous sigh, the equine shuffled forward a step or so, and dipped his muzzle to the trampled and off-coloured grass beneath his hooves. it was hard to tell what was good grazing in those days, mostly because the frost made everything smell like damp. " what i would give for the sweet grass of the spring... " murmuring to himself, as he always did, the male began to graze, taking what he could and trying not to feel the onset of melancholy and bitterness in his bones. unfortunately, he would be likely to give more for company in that moment, more so than for a fresh mouthful of clover on a dewey morning. PARANOIA IS IN BLOOM, OPEN, 1258, SOMEONE KEEP MY MANPONY COMPANY, PRETTY PLEASE :C.