Immersed in fervor, in fractious, elusive temptation, his heart built in strength, in rigor, in gentle, exotic finesse as he pondered over the wake, the weight, of the gift he’d somehow received. Beside the filly, he tossed his grand, princely crown, felt the tide ripple underneath his hooves, cool, crisp, and imagined commanding the rippling ebb and flow, Cinnoru’s brewing trident and staff, parting waves and concocting sieges from the froth. He couldn’t be lost among the pernicious landscape, along the intertwining horizon, bound to the tempest roaming and curling in its swallowing grasp. Magic was an unearthly blessing, particles and sentiments carved, whittled, sculpted into his being for some reason, for some goal and motive, whether for war, for distinction, for honor or glory, he could only surmise, predict, and beguile his senses into augured decibels, and curiosity – so fiercely awakened, clambered to the brink of his youthful delight. He wanted to know, to see, to witness, to perceive each and every invocation crossing over the plains, sinking into the depths, exploited along the innocent, the sinners, the trapped and forlorn. Were their dangerous hymns, coaxed by the immoral? Were their weary, tumbling croons, kindled by the tired, the desolate? Were there healing ministrations by the gifted, assuaging souls, or ferocious machinations sparked by the corrupt, the merciless? Enamored and enchanted, his eyes became a steady, fixated gaze as the other foal told him to wait (though he had no intention of leaving, thrashing amongst the sea like one of its own; drifting above the fish, the rocks, the shells), every moment a whirlwind of wonder and inquiry. Perhaps she had sorcery of her own, an advantageous occurrence that blessed or blinded, mercenary regard into sculpted bliss or whimsical in nature, streamlined into vibrant glades and listless copses? Excitement chiseled and chained to his muscles, to his ardent pulse, and former tribulations, passing tides of despondency and melancholy, were forgotten for the sake of inquisitive bounty and another’s token bestowals.

Riveted, the scion watched as she implemented her wings, brought the gold and ebony plumes against her frame, then casually, effortlessly, ignited them. Like coiled tendrils, smoked, brilliant, ember feathers, they became scorching infernos, contorted, intense coals – lofting, lilting, potent, and he was immediately enamored. The boy’s jaw dropped for a few slender seconds, fascinated, enthralled, by the thought of her phoenix abilities, casting off ashes into mislaid cinders, infernal machinations, snatching and clawing at the air, consuming its repose with the tenacious swing of blazing might. Erebos’ voice clambered over the rush and swell of waves, over the glow, over the rush, of her power, impish appreciation. “Wow!” His lips curled back into a devilish smirk and smile, bewitched by the nefarious decadence of her dominance, if she could snatch and beckon the fronds of fire elsewhere, if the world had to rest and sink beneath her igneous assaults. “I think so!” He tilted his head, rippling along with the tide’s platitude, the sea’s palisade, and wondered more of influence, authority, and capabilities. Could she set her enemies ablaze as she flew over them, basking in mythos? Could she do any more? Could he? What were the locks and keys towards magic? How could they discover, achieve, beyond these first little steps? His query came out, light, inquisitive, begging for more answers to the multitude of questions building within his lithe mind. “What else can you do?”


@[Faeanne]