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06-20-2016, 05:43 PM
Zyanya
Caught up in the picturesque world, Zyanya does not notice the approach of a stranger until he speaks. Her delicate face turns toward his, looking with widened lavender eyes at her new company. Despite his attempts to appear small, the girl cannot help but notice just how tiny she is by comparison. He easily hovers over her, though the distance kept between them avoids the sensation of being overtaken. His massive height is noted first, for it is simply unavoidable for one so close to the ground as Zya. Her head having to crane upward to take in his full appearance, mane dancing about her upper limbs as she does so.
The next item on the list: the absence of a horn. "Good morning," Zyanya forces out of her mouth as to break the awkward silence that had formed since his approach. In truth, she simply wanted more time to analyze what she was seeing without the lack of conversation making it feel like she was gawking. To be fair, she was, but the gentlemen did not need to feel that way. The dainty unicorn had never met an equine without a horn, making this encounter particularly unsettling for her. She wants to ask if he had lost his horn in some sort of skirmish, for warriors of her homeland sometimes had broken horns.
Not that she would actually ask such a rude question.
Sidestepping the horn issue, she notes that his height is matched by a thin body. While Zyanya carries a lithe frame herself, this stallion's figure takes the idea of thin to an extreme. His limbs are awkwardly long, even in comparison to his lengthy body, and she is reminded of her brother when he was a child. Iktan had always looked more gangly than others, but he grew to be much taller than she. Though, judging by the face of this stranger, he is no colt but an adult. Zyanya is not decided on how to judge this stallion, but forces herself to continue with pleasantries for the moment.
"I am Zyanya," her voice does not betray the inner feelings of uncertainty. The words are soft, gentle, and welcoming. "Are you enjoying the sun?" she asks, thinking the question neutral enough to avoid upsetting her company by simply staring. Even for conversation that she is half-committed to, she cannot risk upsetting him. Her long-timed appraisal of his appearance almost coming to an end, she would devote more attention to their interaction soon.
The more she looks at this awkwardly shaped stranger, the more beauty she begins to notice. His coat has an incredible sheen in the light of the sun, almost dancing with every slight movement he makes. His eyes also appear to match her own, but something feels more dynamic about them, as though their color is not truly lavender. These observations leave her undecided, still, on her current opinion of the stallion.
The nervousness accompanying new people is inevitable, but something about how this stallion's actions thus far have made him seem considerate allows Zya to feel secure in his presence. The tension within her limbs disappears slowly. Trying to relax, she gazes toward his face, a lost child seeking some sort of reassurance.
""
The next item on the list: the absence of a horn. "Good morning," Zyanya forces out of her mouth as to break the awkward silence that had formed since his approach. In truth, she simply wanted more time to analyze what she was seeing without the lack of conversation making it feel like she was gawking. To be fair, she was, but the gentlemen did not need to feel that way. The dainty unicorn had never met an equine without a horn, making this encounter particularly unsettling for her. She wants to ask if he had lost his horn in some sort of skirmish, for warriors of her homeland sometimes had broken horns.
Not that she would actually ask such a rude question.
Sidestepping the horn issue, she notes that his height is matched by a thin body. While Zyanya carries a lithe frame herself, this stallion's figure takes the idea of thin to an extreme. His limbs are awkwardly long, even in comparison to his lengthy body, and she is reminded of her brother when he was a child. Iktan had always looked more gangly than others, but he grew to be much taller than she. Though, judging by the face of this stranger, he is no colt but an adult. Zyanya is not decided on how to judge this stallion, but forces herself to continue with pleasantries for the moment.
"I am Zyanya," her voice does not betray the inner feelings of uncertainty. The words are soft, gentle, and welcoming. "Are you enjoying the sun?" she asks, thinking the question neutral enough to avoid upsetting her company by simply staring. Even for conversation that she is half-committed to, she cannot risk upsetting him. Her long-timed appraisal of his appearance almost coming to an end, she would devote more attention to their interaction soon.
The more she looks at this awkwardly shaped stranger, the more beauty she begins to notice. His coat has an incredible sheen in the light of the sun, almost dancing with every slight movement he makes. His eyes also appear to match her own, but something feels more dynamic about them, as though their color is not truly lavender. These observations leave her undecided, still, on her current opinion of the stallion.
The nervousness accompanying new people is inevitable, but something about how this stallion's actions thus far have made him seem considerate allows Zya to feel secure in his presence. The tension within her limbs disappears slowly. Trying to relax, she gazes toward his face, a lost child seeking some sort of reassurance.
""
YOU ARE THE BLUEST LIGHT.
@Seanan
