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02-08-2016, 07:02 PM
the tempest of an unrelenting sea
She returned, as she always did, to the Riptide Isles. Forever seeking, forever searching, for a way back to the Rift. She had done it, she had found a place safe from the evil Vjanta; Vjanta, that evil Tigress, had been conquered! She needed to tell them, to save them, to lead them to Helovia.
But, in the browning of trees and freezing of nights, she had failed to find a way back to the Rift. She had searched, she had combed the dry and desiccated lands, looking for a portal, a pathway, something.
But there was nothing.
So she returned to the Riptide Isles again, failure and grief weighing heavily on her mind as she ascending the slow up-sweep of the ocean floor. Even the waters became colder here than they did in Akvo— there the sea was forever a temperate degree. Slowly, with puffs of coarse sand at her webbed hooves, she broke the surface of the waves. The sea was gentle today— nothing like the tempests she had seen earlier in the season. But the air was cold, despite the southern latitude.
Wallowing inside her head and failures, it was only the sudden crash and angry squawking of birds that brought her attention to her surroundings. Sharp teeth bare, scaled ears pin flush with the ridges of her neck, too-large eyes narrow as she crouches, ready to attack or defend. The ringed gaze finds the grey, winged stallion, and a warning growl tore from her throat.
Those with wings were often predators in the Rift.
But this man— his wings drug dejectedly in the sand. And he clearly was no predator— as his prey still circled above with angry, insulting squawks. Narrowed gaze leaves him for a mere second, seeing a hatchling nestled in the sand behind him, before jerking back to his bright, line-accented eyes.
“What are you doing?” Her growl demanded above the gentle surf.
But, in the browning of trees and freezing of nights, she had failed to find a way back to the Rift. She had searched, she had combed the dry and desiccated lands, looking for a portal, a pathway, something.
But there was nothing.
So she returned to the Riptide Isles again, failure and grief weighing heavily on her mind as she ascending the slow up-sweep of the ocean floor. Even the waters became colder here than they did in Akvo— there the sea was forever a temperate degree. Slowly, with puffs of coarse sand at her webbed hooves, she broke the surface of the waves. The sea was gentle today— nothing like the tempests she had seen earlier in the season. But the air was cold, despite the southern latitude.
Wallowing inside her head and failures, it was only the sudden crash and angry squawking of birds that brought her attention to her surroundings. Sharp teeth bare, scaled ears pin flush with the ridges of her neck, too-large eyes narrow as she crouches, ready to attack or defend. The ringed gaze finds the grey, winged stallion, and a warning growl tore from her throat.
Those with wings were often predators in the Rift.
But this man— his wings drug dejectedly in the sand. And he clearly was no predator— as his prey still circled above with angry, insulting squawks. Narrowed gaze leaves him for a mere second, seeing a hatchling nestled in the sand behind him, before jerking back to his bright, line-accented eyes.
“What are you doing?” Her growl demanded above the gentle surf.
@Darwin
Please tag Aquila in all posts.
