.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
11-10-2014, 06:47 PM
As a warm smile ignited the strikingly marked, bat-winged mare’s expression, Fig bumbled forward to meet her. She watched curiously with forward tipped ears as the strange, mammalian appendages lifted to fold against the lean gold barrel of their owner, and as they stilled in place, green eyes fell down the nearest foreleg. Wonderful scarlet ringlets climbed to the knee – markings that were unlike the dull fruit-shaped accent buried beneath the harsh black of her own hairy hide – and it seemed the other wore the same. She wondered interestedly if that were a brand of Helovia, a herd, or a family emblem. Certainly all of the Lignea were branded with such from the young saplings age, and though it was naturally overlooked by the more ostentatious, loud inhabitants of Helovia, the mark was as much a part of her as the timber stemming from her spine.
Right before she had arrived by the chimeric mare, another winged type had fallen upon the little, snowy glade and while she remained so distracted, Fig forgot entirely about the harrying bite of the relentless wind. The stallion was almost as fancy as the mare she had engaged originally. His body too seemed athletically built (quite the opposite to the cumbersome tree-girl, but apparently universal in these parts), and the gleam of his black coat was interrupted marvellously by sudden bright white – splitting his face, and driving down the lower half of one of his slender legs (and from each fetlock on the rest). The feathered wings which carried him from the skies were but a blur of colour, of motion, and he was already upon them and speaking before Fig had examined them adequately.
As the wings tipped with gold set against his back like a strange, stiffened blanket the other mare answered with care that she belonged nowhere. Fig waited a little (such was the nature of her unhurried lineage), before smiling credulously and telling the strangers, “For now I reside at the edge of the world.” She often fumbled as she spoke the name of her fond acquaintances’ home; it was confusing after all that it lay coincidentally above the lashing jaws of the ocean with no further land as far as her eye could see. From Fig's uneducated perspective, that was quite probably the end of the world in that direction....
The young Lignea was intrigued by the nature of the conversation, the lack of their need to know who each other were at all, and she was more than content to nestle back quietly and listen. They spoke quickly, confidently enough, and she was really no match with her much slower manner and the overly expressive nature of her language.
In no time at all another flighted horse had joined the gathering and Fig shifted awkwardly, noticing quickly how out of place she looked among them. The new stallion shared similar black, gold and white with the first, though the latter pooled more about his waist and wings. He strode from the tree line with a cool dignity that the tree-girl was drawn to - he seemed to be in no hurry which suited her well. He was well spoken and the words given were kind, Fig smiled thoughtfully towards him, and then offered the same to both the other man and the mare. She seemed content with the company she had attracted and it was enough to cast any reservations Fig held away.
@[Bucephalus]
Right before she had arrived by the chimeric mare, another winged type had fallen upon the little, snowy glade and while she remained so distracted, Fig forgot entirely about the harrying bite of the relentless wind. The stallion was almost as fancy as the mare she had engaged originally. His body too seemed athletically built (quite the opposite to the cumbersome tree-girl, but apparently universal in these parts), and the gleam of his black coat was interrupted marvellously by sudden bright white – splitting his face, and driving down the lower half of one of his slender legs (and from each fetlock on the rest). The feathered wings which carried him from the skies were but a blur of colour, of motion, and he was already upon them and speaking before Fig had examined them adequately.
As the wings tipped with gold set against his back like a strange, stiffened blanket the other mare answered with care that she belonged nowhere. Fig waited a little (such was the nature of her unhurried lineage), before smiling credulously and telling the strangers, “For now I reside at the edge of the world.” She often fumbled as she spoke the name of her fond acquaintances’ home; it was confusing after all that it lay coincidentally above the lashing jaws of the ocean with no further land as far as her eye could see. From Fig's uneducated perspective, that was quite probably the end of the world in that direction....
The young Lignea was intrigued by the nature of the conversation, the lack of their need to know who each other were at all, and she was more than content to nestle back quietly and listen. They spoke quickly, confidently enough, and she was really no match with her much slower manner and the overly expressive nature of her language.
In no time at all another flighted horse had joined the gathering and Fig shifted awkwardly, noticing quickly how out of place she looked among them. The new stallion shared similar black, gold and white with the first, though the latter pooled more about his waist and wings. He strode from the tree line with a cool dignity that the tree-girl was drawn to - he seemed to be in no hurry which suited her well. He was well spoken and the words given were kind, Fig smiled thoughtfully towards him, and then offered the same to both the other man and the mare. She seemed content with the company she had attracted and it was enough to cast any reservations Fig held away.
@[Bucephalus]
