|
BY THE PRECEPTS OF HER PURITY
The fog oozed forward, soothingly tangling its damp paws on the shadowed moss. Mr. Teatime clawed the trees he passed, seemingly content with the forever curling and dancing whiteness around him. Maren watched him, smiling as the positive stream of his emotions unburdened her thoughts. Autumn had come and the leaves of summer were letting go of their branches, falling down in their bright colored rustiness, swirling in their motion; much like feathers, but louder.
Soundfully.
She felt her tiger companion looking up at her, and she turned her gaze to him. His eyes lay sharp in her stare and she felt his words in her mind for the first time, perhaps. Sounds, was the only thing she heard. Loud — then he ran off, his jumps more powerful now that he had grown in age and muscle, to investigate. Maren could do nothing other than follow him (or at least that’s how she felt), letting the sea of dancing fog and shadowy trees behind her and letting her hoofs lead her.
She scanned the area around her as her hoof beats echoed dully into the forest floor, the shifting canopy above her throwing patches of sun and shadow as she went. Then, trotting into a clearing surrounded by large trees, stood two pretty mares around which Mr. Teatime was already circling, perhaps scanning if they were okay. Her pace slowed as she drew closer, until she halted next to them, just in time to hear the sea-blue mare saying her name. Maren’s golden eyes were silent as she looked from the one mare to the other, not knowing either and wondering if she was interrupting something or not. “Excuse me, my companion heard someone scream.” Her words were rather dry, perhaps not as uneasy as she could have sounded, had there truly been something wrong. Her silent gaze traveled to the pale mare. Her coat seemed pristine and clear like snow, except from the patch of brown shadowing her face, but Maren was most intrigued by her antlered crown, which weren't common among the Dragon's Throat's inhabitants — Perhaps this girl is new to Helovia, the thought breaking her pondering and fueling her interest in this random meeting.
Meanwhile, Mr. Teatime has found himself distracted by the blue whale, following the girl-who-looks-like-the-sea, and sweeps his tail at it playfully.
The blue mare had a friendly ringing to her voice and Maren remembered to at least try her best to mirror that as well. She scraped her throat. “Let me introduce myself, I am the Diviner of the Dragon’s Throat, Maren. That is Mr. Teatime,” she pointed with one of her feathered fingers, after which her wings nestled themselves against her mane once more. “You do look alright,” she helped herself to adding, quite matter-of-factly and unable to conceal the slight judging tone to her voice. There was no excuse. As much as she'd liked to try, she wasn't nice. She rather did not pretend to be, either, and if this mare couldn't handle a few uncomfortable blisters on her behind, she wasn't going be the right material to become a desert dweller, anyway.
| |
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
