I don't like this, I really don't like this. Why must this place even exist? It's rather intimidating to say the least. Who even comes here besides stag's? No one besides mares. That's basically everyone. Oh why did I have to be given the trait of having constant nervous meltdowns?

The petite fae wandered timidly into the land, quivering slightly beneath her long mane of woven tassels. Her dark orbs were wide and alert, her posture erect and her muscles were tight and bulgding obviously out of her flesh. Oh yes, she was prepared for anything. A possible attack, anything. Even though this land was safe and she knew it, she didn't believe it. She would remain this way until she believed whomever wished to speak with the fair beauty to be kind and understanding towards her lack of courage and fear of... well... everything. But she would regain her confidence... sooner or later... prefferably later, but still, it was all in the matter of who approached her and how they did it. Massive energy scared her, what if they got over excited and attempted something that frightened her? Say getting a fly off her bay hue where she couldn't reach. Example: A complete meltdown of crazed antics. In other words, fear for your life.

Obviously she wasn't quite normal, but really, it was only a faze. When someone that she trusted was with her she was fine, but alone, God save anyone who scared her, She had always been this way. And most likely always would be. Nevertheless, she walked... at a snail's pace across the land. Eyeing anything that moved and startling violently as a buck lept from the trees and dissapeared into another set. Suddenly she spotted a small clump of trees standing alone in the dead center. She immediately made a jack rabbit start towards them and dove for cover beneath their long branches of darkness. Here she sighed in an effort of relief. Feeling safe, she looked out from beneath the branches and opened her tiny maw. But no sound came out. 'Figures'. Now she hoped that someone had seen her dive rather foolishly into the trees so she would not have to make any sort of move to be noticed.

She didn't really want to be noticed, but knew that the only path out of thise horrid land was by a stallion claiming her.

Oh God please let him be nice, please let him be nice.

She repeated this one phrase over and over in her mind as her large oculars searched until they watered from not blinking. Now she wasn't shaking, but her blood had run icily cold, for she thought she heard hoofbeats. But of course, it was probably her vivid imagination....

I hope...

OOC: Thoughts are always put in italics, it's in the rules, so you don't need to adjust alignments.

Underneath the morning sun a heavily built stallion highsteps into the grounds, his large daggers falling with a dull beat upon the grassless terrain of the raised crest he stood upon. His handsome crown moves slowly as he gazes across the claiming grounds from its borders, his wild, thick, white streaked obsidian mane whipping about his nape and facade - caught in the wind. A feminine scent reaches his snuffing nares and when his muzzle turns to follow its direction, bii-coloured eyes catch the striking frame of a small mare whose hue was similar to his - though without his random marks. From such a distance he could make out very little of her except that she was frightfully fidgety - a small grin creeps onto his velveteen as she starts suddenly and hops like a frightened bunny to a shady thicket.

'I wonder if she knows that she looks ridiculous' He thinks with an almost inaudible chuckle, already fond of her timid behaviours. He remains quite comfortably still as he watches her movements (or apparent lack there of) for a while, seeing her inch out as if she is going to call a sweet little call - but nothing comes out. Sharloch cannot help but snort in laughter as she retreats once again into her hidey-hole.

'I should really put her out of her misery, she does seem so very apprehensive about the world...' He thinks with a twang of pity in his heart, the protective side of his nature boiling up within his frame. He tosses his cran to the sky and calls a gentle call of greetings to her, half rearing at the same time so that she could find his position easily. He did not wish to scare her away - he was far too curious about her now. As his flints hit the rocky ground again he watches eagerly for a signal to approach, feeling that a gentle and sensitive first meeting would suit this femme best.