the Rift


[OPEN] snowdrift slumber
Ascended Helovian

Midas the Gallant Posts: 1,164
Deceased
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 14.3 hh :: Immortal :: Soul is 7 (FF) Buff: HUNTER
Fina :: Common Zephyr :: Phoenix & Wakiya & Neve :: Common Zephyr :: Arctic Angel
#4
I hadn’t heard him singing at the distance we stood; and in the process of said individual yipping from the snow, a curse stringing from the lips of said stranger ended up making me nearly jump out of skin despite being a primed warrior who took pride in all manner of situations. My heart leapt into throat and ears shot back; ivory feathers rose into a high arch, slithering from my sides as if to aid me into heaven. Fina giggled in my mind, obviously taking morbid amusement for the sake of someone else’s discomfort. I waited as his eyes found me, holding them until the both of us clearly saw that no threat had been made with the intention of harm.

Only when he spoke did this battle worn body entertain the idea of relaxing. “So jumpy, ye two is…” Fina announced before sailing higher. “Apologizes,” I called back, feeling more or less a little foolish for disturbing this fine individual (even if I’d meant well.) Snow caked limbs shifted and the stranger found his feet, I held ground and allowed his gaze to linger on the feathers that slowly found their way back into a warm sheath.

He offered a joke, furthering my ease into place. An easy smile tickled both corners on his jest, “Aye, it wouldn’t be very comfortable for me.” Feathers didn’t do well when they got wet, and even less so when they were cold. As a young colt we didn’t often get a frost in the desert and only rarely in my young life did Ma or Da take me from the confines of home. “Let things be well between us Wilibald, son of Hamfast.” Grin widened as I dipped skull respectfully toward chest in a soldiers salute, tapping the gem thrice.

“I am Midas, son of Tharon” It felt nice to share the old tongue with someone who had been reared the same. My father had passed on this old way before the world moved on to replace our beautiful words with brash language. Speaking used to be an art; a teaching I’d have returned to the world, “Is ye a traveler?”
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Messages In This Thread
snowdrift slumber - by Wilibald - 03-17-2014, 08:25 PM
RE: snowdrift slumber - by Midas - 03-17-2014, 10:29 PM
RE: snowdrift slumber - by Wilibald - 03-20-2014, 10:47 PM
RE: snowdrift slumber - by Midas - 03-21-2014, 02:25 PM
RE: snowdrift slumber - by Wilibald - 03-22-2014, 02:13 PM
RE: snowdrift slumber - by Midas - 03-26-2014, 04:54 PM
RE: snowdrift slumber - by Wilibald - 03-27-2014, 11:11 AM
RE: snowdrift slumber - by Midas - 03-28-2014, 03:01 PM

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