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There was mention by the Unicorn stallion coloured the same, that the idea of pulled feathers was one he liked. As others began to tell their stories, grim tales that struck a chord with her heart mostly, she turned her gentle expression around so that lips could access flaring flight feathers – the primary ones her immediate preference. Any watching would see that there were ten, all varying in length, all perfectly clean and black. She plucked them carefully, one by one with barely a wince (it was a destructive behaviour sown deep through her frail personality), and placed them in sequence upon the wet snow by her hooves. When all had been removed (they served no purpose anyhow), the wing closed snugly back beside her flank, misshapen, unsightly.
Silas, she called through their bond, ignoring his very visible horror and the startled clack of his hooked beak. ... Please gather them together in your talons, roll them with quills facing out so that none may see which they are choosing. The Roc did just as she wished, carefully, respecting those glorious gifts that had seconds before been filled with her very blood. After collecting them between eight sharp, raptor-like claws, Silas fluttered to perch back on the mare’s concave back with the feathers beneath, and she began quietly to walk through the group.
“Take one,” she smiled warmly as she passed each by. “I will sit out; I have many gifts already in my life.” Allowing the quills to be taken, Africa’s bonded loosened his powerful grip, and when silence (brief or deliberate) fell across them, she began to tell a tale close to her heart. “Late one Orangemoon, long ago, there was a unicorn mare as pale as snow. Few knew of her, few remember her. She led a pegasus north into the wilds, a dangerous journey for a foolish child – well-meaning, and credulous. The echo of a leader echoed through the young mind of the winged, though she could not abandon the newest of their family, would never forsake the loyalty that clan had shown to her.
They came upon a northern world, frozen, guarded by creatures as bitter and cruel as the land they inhabited, and it was upon that doorstep that the agitator, the ghost-white mare’s troublesome plan came undone. Her tongue was wicked, her mind still worse, and she infuriated the gate’s keepers faster than anything the pegasus had ever seen before – the gravity of the situation became quickly apparent. That night, by the hand of terrible black-magic, the unicorn drew her last breath, and her imprudent herd-sister was taken prisoner, a lamb in a lion’s den. Her punishment was pitiless, the bones in her wings shattered; though still worse was the macabre monster that severed one wing completely. It was a longstanding hatred between them, but he finally won his prize. Nearly a season later came two stallions, wraiths through the night, and they stole away the prisoner to safety.
The broken bones were mended, wounds were healed, but naught could be done to retrieve the lost limb. To this day she prays both for forgiveness and of the boundless thankfulness she feels – because she still breaths to this day.” She knew not whether they’d all been taken, but the gesture was the fairest of those ideas put forward, and Africa slipped by the last face and returned to the side of the only mare who had visited her when the scars were still fresh.
“Keep them,” she smiled tenderly, “Everyone takes a gift home tonight.”
Words: 598
Summary: Africa pulls the primary flight feathers from her wing and Silas collects them, rolling them so they are mixed. She declares that she will not take part in the feather activity, and walks between the group allowing each horse a chance to take one from the zephyr’s talons. All the while she is telling a story of her own, before finally returning to stand beside Cirrus.
Silas, she called through their bond, ignoring his very visible horror and the startled clack of his hooked beak. ... Please gather them together in your talons, roll them with quills facing out so that none may see which they are choosing. The Roc did just as she wished, carefully, respecting those glorious gifts that had seconds before been filled with her very blood. After collecting them between eight sharp, raptor-like claws, Silas fluttered to perch back on the mare’s concave back with the feathers beneath, and she began quietly to walk through the group.
“Take one,” she smiled warmly as she passed each by. “I will sit out; I have many gifts already in my life.” Allowing the quills to be taken, Africa’s bonded loosened his powerful grip, and when silence (brief or deliberate) fell across them, she began to tell a tale close to her heart. “Late one Orangemoon, long ago, there was a unicorn mare as pale as snow. Few knew of her, few remember her. She led a pegasus north into the wilds, a dangerous journey for a foolish child – well-meaning, and credulous. The echo of a leader echoed through the young mind of the winged, though she could not abandon the newest of their family, would never forsake the loyalty that clan had shown to her.
They came upon a northern world, frozen, guarded by creatures as bitter and cruel as the land they inhabited, and it was upon that doorstep that the agitator, the ghost-white mare’s troublesome plan came undone. Her tongue was wicked, her mind still worse, and she infuriated the gate’s keepers faster than anything the pegasus had ever seen before – the gravity of the situation became quickly apparent. That night, by the hand of terrible black-magic, the unicorn drew her last breath, and her imprudent herd-sister was taken prisoner, a lamb in a lion’s den. Her punishment was pitiless, the bones in her wings shattered; though still worse was the macabre monster that severed one wing completely. It was a longstanding hatred between them, but he finally won his prize. Nearly a season later came two stallions, wraiths through the night, and they stole away the prisoner to safety.
The broken bones were mended, wounds were healed, but naught could be done to retrieve the lost limb. To this day she prays both for forgiveness and of the boundless thankfulness she feels – because she still breaths to this day.” She knew not whether they’d all been taken, but the gesture was the fairest of those ideas put forward, and Africa slipped by the last face and returned to the side of the only mare who had visited her when the scars were still fresh.
“Keep them,” she smiled tenderly, “Everyone takes a gift home tonight.”
Words: 598
Summary: Africa pulls the primary flight feathers from her wing and Silas collects them, rolling them so they are mixed. She declares that she will not take part in the feather activity, and walks between the group allowing each horse a chance to take one from the zephyr’s talons. All the while she is telling a story of her own, before finally returning to stand beside Cirrus.
salsolastock | uplifting-stock | two-ladies-stocks
foxyfirewings & larfsalot @deviantart
subtlepatterns.com
foxyfirewings & larfsalot @deviantart
subtlepatterns.com
