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[I don't mind at all! :D]
credits
A scream echoed through the valley. Young and lank, the narrow creature perched on stilted long legs paused from her previous romp, lengthy ears flicking back and forth with caution. This noise was foreign in the manner it rattled chaotically against her delicate ears, the high keening sound digging beneath her new skin and making it roil with discomfort and disquiet, caused the soft lobes to press against her neck in distaste in an attempt to quiet the buffeting caucophany. Stop!, she wanted so badly to cry, tossing the delicate head lamely in a sort of affirmation, but before the flower-wreathed child could act, the rancor ended, leaving her trembling with the newness and uncertainty. She contemplating finding Mama, but a brave fraction of her, temptress already, pushed her forward toward its origin, reckless with curiosity; Lothíriel was a foolhardy girl. With little more than a breath and an ounce of discretion, uneasiness settling along the back of her throat like a bad cough, the baby began a lope toward the origin of the offending sound, slight cloven hooves thrumming against the loam. It took little exertion in order for the lilac eyes to find the flame, terrible red against green, hellishly hot against the coolness of her alpine home. A part of her twitched with instinctive fear, told her to run, but as the scream had died down to wind, so did the flame, buffeted into nonexistence. From beneath ridiculously long eyelashes, the fawn glanced upward, curious to know what force would have extinguished the blight so easily. Eyes narrowed with mistrust. It too bore magic, she noted with awe, but it also had bird wings, cumbersome appendages that rose from its shoulders, red-stained like the flame they had quenched. It was a thing of lore, something that existed solely (or she had thought) in her dam's tales; Huyana had told them to accept these strange creatures, to love them for their differences, for the very things that distinguished them; but she felt no stir of kinship, no craving for friendship, only boundless curiosity and perhaps a tad of youthful bravado. Lothíriel paused abruptly, hind hooves digging beneath the dirt. She tucked her chin against her chest, brandishing the bump of a horn she donned, barely peeking out through a whorl of hair. It was a laughable sight compared to the yearling's much more developed weapon, shining deadly purple in the waning light of the scarlet flames. Close to the strange thing was a golden-marked mare, a gilded horn rising from her proud brow. Beautiful in her familiarity compared to the wicked abnormality of the younger, the skinny-legged girl was drawn to her, pausing several meters away from the duo as prismatic eyes took them in, unabashedly wide. It was more the hybrid Lothíriel watched, guts wringing with unfamiliarity and uncertainty, wondering how such an odd looking creature had come to be; were crow's wings sewn onto her shoulders at birth? Could she fly as the birds could, gracile and agile and effortless, or were they simply mutations, useless limp appendages which did nothing more than mar her appearance. She looked to the golden mare with confusion swimming in her big baby eyes, as boundless and blameless as they were judiciary. "What're those?"; words carelessly blurted out, tumbling from clumsy lips like a finger pointed, cherub voice roused with an eternity of ancestral hate; this was not natural, she decided on a whim, thinking to Mama and Papa and all those dead which preceded her, none of whom bore wings. Head tilted, all naivety and innocence, and she took two reluctant steps, awkward on endlessly long limbs. "What're you?" |
