She is called Cirrus, a strange name that makes him think of the very clouds with which she is painted, as she says it he runs his eyes again across the painted mirror that is her pelt, fascinated more so than he had been made nervous at her first arrival now that the conversation has settled into friendly words and the moments beyond the first few awkward minutes of the realization she was not a threat to him. She’s still odd, to be sure, and not the sort of girl his father would approve of as his son’s company, but Dragomir feels less and less worried about what Adalwulf would think the longer he is in the land called Helovia.

The land itself forced such notions as racism from the minds of young wanderers, at least in his case; there was simply too much to negate what he had been taught within the confines of the Edge, much less once he’d started his ventures across its wide, wild face. The idea that one species held power over another became more and more diluted the more he learned of the three-breed Gods and the closer he grew to his herd mates, many of whom were not equine – but were also not evil or cruel, wild and without intelligence as he had been warned.

Her question draws a happy grin to the mouth of the young stallion, his eyes drifting over to the sea and ushering in a hundred memories of splashing through the shallows with wild dragons dipping through the air above him, occasionally splashing down to rise into the heavens with a flailing fish caught in their talons. He doesn’t need the additional logic of warding away bugs to nod vigorously his yes, because the idea of playing was one that delighted him and an activity he had participated in hardly at all since he’d come to Helovia (unless he was with Semira – she seemed to make everything into a game).

She doesn’t wait for him to follow before she is heading to the water, the stallion wondering in his thoughts as to how her wings would be affected by the liquid; some winged things couldn’t fly with dampened appendages, and he has had little experiences with pegasi to know the outcome of a swim on their ability to fly. It’s a comforting thought to think that, maybe, she’d be land bound afterwards, and that by submerging herself and loosing her ability to take to the skies, she was displaying a level of trust towards the stallion that he rarely gave to others, much less expected. It left him with a warm feeling in his heart as he lowered his muzzle and allowed the ropes and the wood to clunk over his whithers and into the sand, bulky frame bursting from his solitary position once he has rid himself of his cumbersome carrying tools, leaping into the ocean at a bounding canter with a smile plastered all across his simple features.

The water is wonderful, instantly ridding his flesh of the gritty sand that has collected on his legs and belly from his wandering of the beach, the salty scent pungent in his nostrils as it bends with the smell of fish and seaweed; his tail floats along behind him, a black and white streak that bobs and ebbs with the wake, and a robust laugh breaks into the air as a small wave rises up and dunks his head underwater for a brief moment.

His hooves can still feel the squishy bottom of the shoreline, but just barely so; if he was to venture forward another few paces, he’d be left to only his own strength to remain abreast the sea. Instead, he pivots to head down the water, shaking his head to send myriad droplets glittering through the air, landing with plinks and plops among the surging sound of water dividing to allow him to pass.

Suddenly, he halts his progression and sends his muzzle hard into the water and towards the pegasus mare, his laughter still hovering on a genial face as he attempts to splash the mare named Cirrus.


@[Cirrus]