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02-06-2017, 10:39 PM
@Kiri --
And there is no telling what lies before me, what secrets hide behind the mask of the stranger— what her motives are (does she seek refuge?), and I cannot read the emotions dancing across her features, or look into her eyes to pick apart her words (is she lying?). She approaches quietly, treading delicately upon the earth, my ears straining to listen to her steps. She must be smaller, lighter perhaps, but I cannot tell. I listen to her closely, to the questions she offers me. She asks about my wings, telling me that those on her island do not have wings that function, which seems almost bizarre. What purpose for the wings then? For decoration, adornment upon a body, a sign of godliness? Of holiness? What of them?
I nod my head, allowing my wings to stretch as much as they could, until the tips brushed against trees and snagged the branches, feeling the length of my wingspan consume the clearing, rattling bushes and catching leaves. I bring them back, letting them settle upon my sides comfortable before answering her. I speak softly, a gentle hum, welcoming and careful as I pick my words. "Yes, they work. Navigation can be... difficult however." When I take to the skies, I am leaving my life, the fate of my being— in the hands of the gods themselves, in my subconscious, hoping I truly desire to live out my life fully and completely, not let myself tumble to the seas or lose myself to wild winds and false directions.
She asks more this time, and I frown, furrowing a horned brow and tossing my head to the side. "I haven't heard any large groups— I can't be of much use looking for them." I gasp at the soft steps approaching, startled by the delicacy in which the steps are taken, hooves ghosting over the earth. Her gentle voice catches my ears, head shifting to face the new woman. Manon of the Edge. "And I'm Shahrokh, of the Dragon's Throat. What island do you speak of?" I was interested in hearing where she hailed, curious to know the stories she could tell, the life she had lead before she wound up here (how did she get here anyway?). "Do you know how you got here to begin with?" We'll start with that.
“talk talk talk.”
And there is no telling what lies before me, what secrets hide behind the mask of the stranger— what her motives are (does she seek refuge?), and I cannot read the emotions dancing across her features, or look into her eyes to pick apart her words (is she lying?). She approaches quietly, treading delicately upon the earth, my ears straining to listen to her steps. She must be smaller, lighter perhaps, but I cannot tell. I listen to her closely, to the questions she offers me. She asks about my wings, telling me that those on her island do not have wings that function, which seems almost bizarre. What purpose for the wings then? For decoration, adornment upon a body, a sign of godliness? Of holiness? What of them?
I nod my head, allowing my wings to stretch as much as they could, until the tips brushed against trees and snagged the branches, feeling the length of my wingspan consume the clearing, rattling bushes and catching leaves. I bring them back, letting them settle upon my sides comfortable before answering her. I speak softly, a gentle hum, welcoming and careful as I pick my words. "Yes, they work. Navigation can be... difficult however." When I take to the skies, I am leaving my life, the fate of my being— in the hands of the gods themselves, in my subconscious, hoping I truly desire to live out my life fully and completely, not let myself tumble to the seas or lose myself to wild winds and false directions.
She asks more this time, and I frown, furrowing a horned brow and tossing my head to the side. "I haven't heard any large groups— I can't be of much use looking for them." I gasp at the soft steps approaching, startled by the delicacy in which the steps are taken, hooves ghosting over the earth. Her gentle voice catches my ears, head shifting to face the new woman. Manon of the Edge. "And I'm Shahrokh, of the Dragon's Throat. What island do you speak of?" I was interested in hearing where she hailed, curious to know the stories she could tell, the life she had lead before she wound up here (how did she get here anyway?). "Do you know how you got here to begin with?" We'll start with that.
“talk talk talk.”
-- table by velvette --
![[Image: dark1_by_schwartze-d8al7s3.png]](http://orig13.deviantart.net/d6f6/f/2014/354/2/c/dark1_by_schwartze-d8al7s3.png)
and this is the world as i see it now,
turns out nothing is fair
