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11-11-2014, 02:29 PM
Upon first glance (even before she had ambled down the beach to meet the stranger), Fig’s thoughtful green eyes had presumed the other to be more far simply dressed than the many ostentatious Pegasi who called Helovia home – those that she was becoming well accustomed to meeting. As she drew ever closer however, her error became plainly obvious. Even without strange horns adorning her face, glossy feathers, or dragon wings, the mare who seemed not to notice her arrival was anything but ordinary. She was very much as elegant as the young Lingnea had assumed – curvaceous and feminine, and beautifully expressive, even there motionless with her face cast up into the steady breeze.
The grey she had seen darkened to black, sleek and without the mat clumps and thistles that riddled her own shaggy appearance and Fig discovered also a rather fascinating white web blanketing her back. Thick braids were draped across the pattern – those which she had seen trailing through the air as the mare cantered – and most peculiar of all was a glistening headdress across the brow. She hardly noticed that the stranger’s blood-red eyes were trained to the sprawling, flourishing wood upon her own spine. Many in Helovia greeted her in much the same fashion (although startling so dramatically was not what Fig sought at all), so the young tree-girl was beginning to suppose examinations to be a fairly common 'first meeting' behaviour. She certainly never imagined herself to be anything exciting.
When their gaze locked at last, Fig was still grinning pleasantly.
She passed a fleeting glance by the rolling, frothing white waves as they fell hard against the sand and thought if they were any less rough, she might truly appreciate a drink. The young Lignea felt itchy as wet sand rubbed against her skin, and though the air held always the bitter chill of winter (the wind never letting her forget), she began to notice a salty, clammy stench rising about her – one she rather disliked. She turned routinely, so that the sun might penetrate her fluttering foliage to warm and dry her thick coat, and as she was realigning herself, the horse before her began to speak.
Fig laughed lightly, amused firstly because the mare with the web cloak and heavy braids was quite unlike any other she had met before – it was grand that they should hold such a thing in common, and it was a fine icebreaker. As the slow, melodious sound of her chortling softened and ceased, the tree-girl replied “You also are splendidly different, friend! And to stand out among the creatures of this land, Fig thought was remarkable. “I am Fig,” she continued then, rocking back her weight to rest against clenched haunches while the tree above shivered with each gentle movement. “My kin are not native to Helovia. I have travelled a great many miles to be here. And yourself? From where do you hail?”
The grey she had seen darkened to black, sleek and without the mat clumps and thistles that riddled her own shaggy appearance and Fig discovered also a rather fascinating white web blanketing her back. Thick braids were draped across the pattern – those which she had seen trailing through the air as the mare cantered – and most peculiar of all was a glistening headdress across the brow. She hardly noticed that the stranger’s blood-red eyes were trained to the sprawling, flourishing wood upon her own spine. Many in Helovia greeted her in much the same fashion (although startling so dramatically was not what Fig sought at all), so the young tree-girl was beginning to suppose examinations to be a fairly common 'first meeting' behaviour. She certainly never imagined herself to be anything exciting.
When their gaze locked at last, Fig was still grinning pleasantly.
She passed a fleeting glance by the rolling, frothing white waves as they fell hard against the sand and thought if they were any less rough, she might truly appreciate a drink. The young Lignea felt itchy as wet sand rubbed against her skin, and though the air held always the bitter chill of winter (the wind never letting her forget), she began to notice a salty, clammy stench rising about her – one she rather disliked. She turned routinely, so that the sun might penetrate her fluttering foliage to warm and dry her thick coat, and as she was realigning herself, the horse before her began to speak.
Fig laughed lightly, amused firstly because the mare with the web cloak and heavy braids was quite unlike any other she had met before – it was grand that they should hold such a thing in common, and it was a fine icebreaker. As the slow, melodious sound of her chortling softened and ceased, the tree-girl replied “You also are splendidly different, friend! And to stand out among the creatures of this land, Fig thought was remarkable. “I am Fig,” she continued then, rocking back her weight to rest against clenched haunches while the tree above shivered with each gentle movement. “My kin are not native to Helovia. I have travelled a great many miles to be here. And yourself? From where do you hail?”
