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09-13-2014, 07:57 PM
She is a tiny creature, the mare in the meadow.
The prince stands among the trees, having wandered upon her petite form in his irritable rambling. He did not set out today to reach the rolling hills and open forests of the Threshold, and yet here he stands. The misted cliffs of the World's Edge don't feel quite right to him anymore - not when his life has become so static, so unchanging, so unsatisfying. His King and Queen are busy doing... whatever it is that needs doing in this land. His lover is busy finding herbs and curing everyone's aches and pains. He has no friends to speak of, having devoted his time in Helovia to just one mare.
When did he become so tame?
Zarina, the pygmy marmoset that perches atop his poll, comments that his silent watching makes him seem quite creepy, and he snorts softly, chuckling. She is quite right, he realizes suddenly, and so he steps forward from the shadow of the trees and into the grasses that have somehow managed to retain their color even this late in Orangemoon.
"Hello," he calls as he picks his way easily through the tall grasses. Once clear of the trees, he stretches his wings out to the sides, ruffling his feathers until they fell into neat, symmetrical lines. He halts a fair distance from her, folding his wings back against his sides. He does not wish to scare the fae (and he has had plenty of experience with flighty females), so he merely smiles slightly and offers a friendly question: "Do you mind if I join you, m'lady?"
"more words."
The prince stands among the trees, having wandered upon her petite form in his irritable rambling. He did not set out today to reach the rolling hills and open forests of the Threshold, and yet here he stands. The misted cliffs of the World's Edge don't feel quite right to him anymore - not when his life has become so static, so unchanging, so unsatisfying. His King and Queen are busy doing... whatever it is that needs doing in this land. His lover is busy finding herbs and curing everyone's aches and pains. He has no friends to speak of, having devoted his time in Helovia to just one mare.
When did he become so tame?
Zarina, the pygmy marmoset that perches atop his poll, comments that his silent watching makes him seem quite creepy, and he snorts softly, chuckling. She is quite right, he realizes suddenly, and so he steps forward from the shadow of the trees and into the grasses that have somehow managed to retain their color even this late in Orangemoon.
"Hello," he calls as he picks his way easily through the tall grasses. Once clear of the trees, he stretches his wings out to the sides, ruffling his feathers until they fell into neat, symmetrical lines. He halts a fair distance from her, folding his wings back against his sides. He does not wish to scare the fae (and he has had plenty of experience with flighty females), so he merely smiles slightly and offers a friendly question: "Do you mind if I join you, m'lady?"
"more words."
Quilyan
counting on the night for a beautiful day;
subtlepatterns.com | kaydeniro & larfsalot @ deviantart
Please tag Quilyan in all replies.
Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Want to plot with Quilyan? Visit his plot page here!
Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Want to plot with Quilyan? Visit his plot page here!
