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BY THE PRECEPTS OF HER PURITY
As the days after the completion of their temple passed, sometimes she would notice curious by-passers climb the stairs and entering the tall, metal structure. One day she noticed flowers had been placed on the Sun's altar. They could have been from anyone, for anyone, purposefully put there with either a tear or a smile. Maybe both. Without a sound she had sat down before them as she carefully brushed the flowers with the wispy tips of her ivory wings; her mind lost in the endearing knowledge that there were others out there, cherishing the push and pull of their sacred religion, much like those flowers and its seeds.
She stood in the offering chamber, looking up to the herds Patron God in thought. Her ivory mane were collected in salty, shimmering locks around her red striped neck. Her hide was rough, but to her simply and perfectly perfumed by the sea and cared for by the sands. It was how she was; perhaps how the Dragon's Throat was. There was a voice from outside of which its trail echoed through the building. The deep man-voice reminded her of a stallion she had liked (and perhaps loved) a few months back. Someone who she had forgotten about by now. It wasn't his fault - It was just how she tended to be with relationships: Fleeting, like the salty grains carried on the winds that greeted her when she came outside; to see the figure of the man who had called her name this time.
Her eyes said nothing, but her lips formed a smile when she saw Misael standing down the stairway. He looked healthy and bright amidst the purple and orange hues of their homeland, despite his darker contrasting coloring - and, needless to say, handsome as always.
She huffed quasi disapproving and pulled up her eyebrows. "Why is it that you call me out here," she complained down the stairs. Although not so much hidden within the current of her voice there was a confession of welcoming vibes. She was glad he had come to hang out with her - if that was his purpose, as she had always thought him interesting enough. She tilted her ivory head, golden gaze sparkling with violet. "Do you not dare come inside?" But her stance was relaxed, framed by the dark shadows of the curled entryway, her neck lowered into a pretty curl. Like always, the depths of her gaze gave none away, but there was a softness within her expression, her smile, that was inviting him nonetheless.
Meanwhile, Mr.Teatime had joined them and, never having met another cat companion before, was singing a cheerful greeting to Lazarus. As he, too, smelled the tastiness of the black lion's paws, he wandered over wanting to sniff them as well. :|
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