 |
Hmm. A desert. That was new. Antero was certainly used to the lush, fertile land of his previous home, and the concept of a desert was something entirely new to him. It was still damn hot, the Tallsun solar radiation bouncing off the sandy desert base and reflecting in the form of distorting wavelengths into the air; but, as if with a movement of mercy, nature granted this place a break from the wretched humidity he had experienced at the Threshold. This, this break from the humidity, was something he could get used to.
Rasta had given him directions to this location, and he had followed them quite happily. He was an explorer at heart, a scout by nature - he had started as such in the army back home, and he was putting these skills to good use as he approached the desert basin. His keen amber eyes scouted the land he soared above, his broad wings catching thermals to gain height or finding pockets of sink to descent. He was an agile flier, and an efficient one - if he didn't need to flap his wings to ascend or descend, he didn't. As such, he had much more energy after a long flight, and now, he appreciated the weather of his new home as another pocket of sink aided his descent.
The bay stallion landed gently upon the lush earth around the oasis, a place he figured he would not only find drink and sustenance, but the other members of his new herd as well. From what Rasta had mentioned, Dragon's Throat seemed to be a thriving place; it was a vast territory though, and he had only seen signs of other horses in his flight into the desert. Even now, it seemed like the watering hole was vacant - at least, from what he could observe from above. With a shrug, Antero dipped his head, savouring the sweet taste of the Throat's water and then turning to have a bit of a graze on the greenery nearby. So far, this wasn't so bad - yes, he could get used to this. |
 |
Her lips eagerly hit the water, her silvery eyes looking back at themselves in the distorted, magnified projection. It was rare that she saw her own reflection, and she didn't hesitate to study the lines of her face, the odd metallic-silver of her eyes, and the hulking masses at her sides (better known as wings, of course). She also did not fail to feel a pang of sadness as she slipped her lips back from the lake, and watched it drip carelessly from them and back into itself. Once something she had had complete control over, it was now nothing more than a luke-warm pool at her feet, there was no pull or desire for her from it anymore. It was life-giving, but to her, it was suddenly lifeless. Nothing more than a puddle.
It bothered her, and for a moment, she felt angry.
A rustle, a heavy breath.
Her eyes avert from the lake, and to the stallion that stood diagonally from here - nearly across, but not quite. Judging from the curious way he turned his head about before he lowered it to the waters edge, she assumed he must be new, too.
And since she was new, both in the Throat and in personality, she turns and walks over to him.
She halts when she is close, still standing diagonal to him. He is magnificent, and the glint in her eye is something she knows she cannot suppress.
Her left wing stretches out and over, nearly double the length of her own body, blocking the sun from his face as he picks through the grass near the lake's edge. She stood quietly beneath her wing, her hip cocked in a way that flexed the muscles in her side and hindquarter. She was so comfortably off-place next to it that it seemed as though something so broad and impressive could not possibly be attached to such a lithe body.
Her eyes run along the line of his jaw, over to his throat, and down his legs. And for a moment, she contemplates dragging the tips of her feathers over it -- all of it.
But she refrains.
"Hello," she says softly, her femininely-deep voice gentle and smooth like the sand all around them.
"I figured you could use the shade… Are you new?"
Ilacta *
My mother told me I had a chameleon soul, no moral compass pointing due north,
no fixed personality; just an inner indecisiveness that was as wide and as wavering as the ocean.
|
|
He did not expect someone to join him so quickly, in a territory that was so vast and seemingly not that busy. But, indeed, there she was - a black mare, winged like he, elegantly striding toward him with long delicate strides. Antero drinks her in, his milky eyes analyzing the lithe outline of her frame, the shimmering expanse of her black coat, which was flecked with sunlight like the light of a thousand stars. There is a certain mischievousness in her eyes - a certain intelligence that he could not quite describe. It was mesmerizing, for the moment, the obsidian mistress who now halted within a few yards.
Antero ruffles his wing feathers slightly once the expanse of her left wing shades him. An interesting gesture. She speaks, then, her voice a melody of smooth and feminine tones. But there is something beneath it, that honeyed sweetness, something that piques his interest in her even further.
Normally, the bay was not one to trifle with the affairs of mares and romance. It was not his training, nor his upbringing - he was a warrior, first and foremost, and that mentality was something he carried with him constantly. Now, though, it seemed like he could allow his attention to momentarily divert - what was the harm in a little bit of back-and-forth? Where was the trouble with flirtation? He was getting older, by the day, and perhaps it was time that he actually began to enjoy the smaller aspects of life a little more. After all, Helovia seemed to be a place at peace, and at the moment, he couldn't see the need for the skills of a soldier.
So yes, indeed, he would play this game.
"Appreciated," His short-worded response, in his deep timbre, was directed at the mare, "Yes, I have just arrived. I presume you are as well?" He straightened his neck in her direction, extending his nose to her. "Antero." |
|
|
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
