The horse is being ridden by a human, one dressed perfectly normally and bearing no unique traits of any sort. She's dressed in a black tunic and skirt, and is wearing a sandy cloak with a hood pulled up. She has a leather satchel on, and her horse's saddlebags are stuffed. She appears to be a merchant of some sort.

Quail was riding her horse, Creek, in the plains, headed toward the general direction of the hills. It was somewhat late and she was tired, but wasn't willing to stop until she reached some sign of society. She was also somewhat exhausted from her trading; she hadn't sold a thing that day and her quest to get a donkey remained fruitless.

The blond yawned. Maybe I'll need to rest under a tree again today after all... how many days has it been?

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<White *  Quail>

Just a nerd who recently got a drawing tablet

The ink flows down into a dark puddle, just move your hand, write your way into his heart!


Pepper watches Quail and the horse, sitting in a tallish patch of grass with a sparrow on her shoulder. The sparrow jumped off her shoulder and flew towards Quail and the horse, landing a few yards away.

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Cult of the ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Too many morbid thoughts

Proud Washingtonian

I'm weird, don't mind me

Green IS a creative color

Existential crisis intensifies 


Trippy dreams galore