the Wind Dancer

The cloud's attention was so focussed, so devoted to the task her body had writ for her, that she did not spy the stirring movements of a giant rising from a position of slumber, his bulky mass parting the vines of the willow tree to watch her seemingly erratic dance. Sweat darkened her hide, the mirror became distorted as a storm seemed to brew upon her coat when the sky above remained relatively calm. Leonine tail lashed at her hide, a whip crafted of ropey tendrils of dreadlocked hair, a punishment spurring on greater, faster, higher movement. Her wings swept up the air before them, lifting her for a stride, before dropping her unceremoniously back to the earth upon which she danced. The belle twisted and turned, and it wasn't until the thunder rumbled from the trees nearby that her motions changed.

The voice was heard and located within a fraction of a second, and in that fraction, her own tiara had twisted upon her serpentine nape to allow her teeth to clutch the spear hiding amongst dark feathers. Another second, and the spear was in flight - it disappeared amongst the willow's vines, landing with a thunk at it pierced the trunk. It's flight trajectory would take it scarily close to the source of the thunder, and as Cirrus spun to look (up) at him, she wondered just how much of the wind of its passing he had felt. Breaths came in waves through her, her chest expanding and collapsing rapidly to refuel her body with much needed oxygen. Her ears were halfway between showing interest and disdain, the indecision clear as her brow wrinkled into a frown, but her gaze could not help but consider this creamy caramel steed.

Behaving rashly wasn't foreign to the cloud, who often acted first then thought later. Throwing the spear had been a warning, a demonstration of how she did not appreciate being interrupted, but that she didn't follow through with a real attack showed that her thoughts were catching up to her - particularly as she assessed just how tall and formidable the behemoth was. She didn't particularly feel like being squashed beneath his hefty hooves after having tired herself out with her strenuous exercises, and so she went for other (potentially just as dangerous) option.

Words.

"Sorry," the little cloud-mare almost grunted as she approached the stallion, having come to the conclusion that it was best to seek his forgiveness should he hold a grudge. "Didn't see you," she added by way of explanation for her actions. The mare paused as she realised just how close she was going to have to get to the stallion in order to retrieve her spear, and silently she cursed herself for her act now, think later routine. How many times had it gotten her in trouble?

How many times had it saved her skin, though?

"I'm Cirrus." The cloud had stopped a body-length before the steed, nodding her tiara slightly as she tried to embrace the patience it would take to can out of this place with her spear back in her possession, rather than the tree's. While she was before him, she raked over his well-toned frame with her bright, cerulean pools, begrudgingly admitting he was a pretty enough specimen of the male gender while also trying to learn as much as she could about him. The scent of pineneedles and salty air teased her nostrils, but they were close to both the World's Edge and the Endless Blue, so the girl didn't think much of his origins when standing before him.

sxc.hu | larfsalot