With all of the grace of a plunging meteor (all of the speed and none of the sparkle - save for pooling sweat), she crashes down heavily to earth. Aquamarine pools widen fearfully, worriedly, helpless as they cling to the chiselled, half-gilt skull which cringes apprehensively left; it is all he can do to avoid the achingly awkward scene unfolding. The smooth onyx rubble already uprooted by his own driving gait, scatters feebly to either side of her skidding, sliding backside, rattling loudly through the brooding, silent atmosphere to no doubt wake the gods, the dead, or any stuck in-between… Indeed something stirs, the rising wind grows moody  around them - it warns, Careful! - and the painted stallion focuses upon it suddenly, with one  ear slunk warily in reverse (the other wavers unsteadily between pointed curiosity, and bewilderment).

A phenomenon, a miracle, He emerges upon that peninsula between the ignorant pair (Noah, still straddling the crude clutter of vine and marble), as though from the churning breath of life itself; a furious cyclone stemming from the collision of boiling lava and brackish sea. Dumbstruck to say the least and having never personally witnessed anything more magical than a mob of unicorns with a bad attitude (still a sour note in his mind), his lower jaw drops abruptly, as though beneath the weight of lead. Across the way, a flick of his gaze picked out the dainty outline of the dove between materialising legs - giant ones, and framework so vast that he found his face climbing sharply just for the chance to try and capture it all in one blink.

”Impossible…”

The rumours, those about ‘gods’ and magic which had been fed to them in the week just past, had entertained within him little more than amused skepticism; but now, standing before this inexplicable thing, a feeling further along the lines of amazement begins to form. As the wind’s grand performance, the agitation of debris and water, finally recedes, what appears to be a mountain-sized horse (from his perspective), stands, with wings plenty big enough to fill the whole sky, curly horns and hair aplenty to keep the northern population toasty through winter! “Heh!?” he blurts loudly, suddenly -   very obvious fear and wonderment combining into one involuntary motion. Humble (in comparison), golden wings remain defensively fastened, tightly, about his trembling waist; should he not have been so paralysed, Noah might have driven them apart and leapt to the aid of the dove beyond.

Though the impression He gave seemed nothing short of ominous, however, there was a softness in the smile he shed, warmth that served to sooth away the friction of fraying emotion within.

While hooves balanced precariously across pieces of shrine (Moon, still unbeknownst to him), he shuffles for better traction and fragments strew, toppling soundlessly into the churning roar of the ocean below. Eyes still press snugly into the ‘mother-of-all-horses’, and when He speaks, the sound rumbles right through the mortal like the resonating song of young, rolling thunderheads. “Nora and I…” he tries to answer, plucking pointlessly at the thousand-string strong harp of thoughts in his mind, but the noise is too loud and he cannot gain clarity. “What are you?!” ...chattering, rogue teeth expel instead and the stunned stallion gulps down on the hard knot in his throat.

---

@Mythical Request
[Magic: Water x Wind | Able to control existing water]

Noah

I was born a warrior
I was born a warrior