Spring has arrived, but winter is slow to release her grasp from the land. As the sun begins to peek over the horizon, its rays shining hazily through the cold, fresh air, it brightens the wood with sparkling diamonds of dew and ice. Like someone has sprinkled glitter across the landscape, it plays happily beneath the light of day. It is a quiet morning, almost unusually so—the forest and its creatures seemingly hesitant to rouse from their slumber, cocooned and comfortable as they are in the warmth of their dens. It is still, peaceful—waiting.

From above, the forest is a silent, picturesque beauty. The green boughs are still frosted with the white remnants of winter, and yet everything seem so clear, so crisp beneath the cold, bright beams of gold. The scene is absorbed with a skeptical appreciation, the small mare ever appreciative of the beautiful things in this world (and ever wary). Perhaps this new world won’t be so bad—perhaps, it will offer her (them) what they have been searching for.

With a quick, subtle snap of beady eyes, she looks to the mare gliding at her side—a princess of poise, grace, and beauty (a budding rebel of malleable mind and wanting heart). Imogen is not on her own anymore, perhaps ever again—at least as long as the pretty princess continues to follow her trail of crumbs; with a little lamb at her side, the cat is sure to melt in easier to the flock. She needs whatever designs she can clutch close while she dissects this foreign world and its people. Every end has its means—just as every means has its end.

The little lamb turns her head, catching the cat’s black gaze. Imogen twists her lips into a soft smile, her expression softening for Rukh’s sake, painted with whatever familiarity and affection that Rukh would like to see (molding into this character as easily as wet clay is molded by practiced, deliberate hands). “Come, nazahna,” the little mare speaks, a soft command. Tucking dark wings in towards her sides, her slender body arches, sending her into a whistling dive towards the wood below. The frosty air bites cruelly at her satin skin, and she smiles, the irregular lub, dub-dub of her heart ushering the sweet rush of adrenaline through her veins.

Down, down she dives, until the trees and ground rise up, threatening to arrest her in a solid, fatal catch, when the taste of danger sours her tongue. Only then does Imogen allow her wings to snap out from her shoulders, the force of her momentum straining at her muscles as she alights in a small clearing. She can hear Rukh land beside her, a rimmed ear slanting in the little lamb’s direction, though bottomless eyes continue to scour their surroundings. Only time will tell what it has to offer them her.


notes; I ask that a PEGASUS come and get them please; Mo here likes to be difficult and needs to be impressed xD also if @Rukh can post first that'd be great thanks<33
“Speech.”

imogen

I know how to be your fantasy