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11-29-2014, 11:09 PM
The voice of a boy spilt across the ice in answer.
The small, shadowy figure of a winged, a Pegasus, emerged quickly from the marvellously unusual structure and even though the small space between their positions may have blurred the gesture a little, Fig smiled warmly and invitingly. The shrill click of the strangers stride on stone interrupted the tranquillity around them, stilling the soft, melodious hum of the remaining birdlife – a flock of young starlings eagerly singing for the change of season, and the loud, rising ‘grow’ of paired wood ducks displaced from their haven. The young watching Lignea noticed right away that the other was small (considerably so compared to others she had met). Should not the child have spoken ahead though, she might have not recognized a child of this land.
As the colt paused to look across at her, the kindliness written through her expression did not waver. Fig’s long messy, matted forelock swung across her white-blazed face as her heavy skull bounced gently in greeting – although, he did not speak again right away. His jaw seemed to slacken somewhat and thin dark lips fell apart, but the tree-girl’s heart knew nothing of vain insecurities and thus not for one second did she find his manner disconcerting. It seemed that assessing a stranger like this was quite the norm in Helovia – all others along the way had met her in much the same way - so respectfully she followed his lead and began slowly to investigate his rather small body.
His coat was as dark as a brewing storm though not as black as the shaggy, thick rug upon Fig where it peeked out between pale olive roots. Curious markings descended each gangly leg from the knee down and her tender green gaze lingered on them for a moment as she found herself pondering once more whether they (and those ringlets curling up the legs of Morrigan on the beach), were Helovian tattoos similar to those worn by the Lignea. Not all were marked though, and it was puzzling. That was about as far as her roaming eyes travelled; the colt spoke, smiling most charismatically – she thought – fumbling awkwardly, before revealing himself as Rhoa. Quietly she smiled on as his tongue betrayed his thoughts, yet she seemed none the wiser and soft laugher bubbled from her thick lips.
“I am called Fig,” she answered in turn unpretentiously, accepting quickly the peculiar behaviour as another normal of this abnormal world. “Nice to meet you Rhoa. Is this your home? It is the most beautiful part of Helovia I have thus far found.” As she revealed her preference, Fig found her eyes slipping from his rich teal gaze past his shoulder, to the kaleidoscope of colour behind. It would have been marvellous if her Soul plant had found root in these parts...
[Sorry if this seems disjointed >.> much kids today......]
The small, shadowy figure of a winged, a Pegasus, emerged quickly from the marvellously unusual structure and even though the small space between their positions may have blurred the gesture a little, Fig smiled warmly and invitingly. The shrill click of the strangers stride on stone interrupted the tranquillity around them, stilling the soft, melodious hum of the remaining birdlife – a flock of young starlings eagerly singing for the change of season, and the loud, rising ‘grow’ of paired wood ducks displaced from their haven. The young watching Lignea noticed right away that the other was small (considerably so compared to others she had met). Should not the child have spoken ahead though, she might have not recognized a child of this land.
As the colt paused to look across at her, the kindliness written through her expression did not waver. Fig’s long messy, matted forelock swung across her white-blazed face as her heavy skull bounced gently in greeting – although, he did not speak again right away. His jaw seemed to slacken somewhat and thin dark lips fell apart, but the tree-girl’s heart knew nothing of vain insecurities and thus not for one second did she find his manner disconcerting. It seemed that assessing a stranger like this was quite the norm in Helovia – all others along the way had met her in much the same way - so respectfully she followed his lead and began slowly to investigate his rather small body.
His coat was as dark as a brewing storm though not as black as the shaggy, thick rug upon Fig where it peeked out between pale olive roots. Curious markings descended each gangly leg from the knee down and her tender green gaze lingered on them for a moment as she found herself pondering once more whether they (and those ringlets curling up the legs of Morrigan on the beach), were Helovian tattoos similar to those worn by the Lignea. Not all were marked though, and it was puzzling. That was about as far as her roaming eyes travelled; the colt spoke, smiling most charismatically – she thought – fumbling awkwardly, before revealing himself as Rhoa. Quietly she smiled on as his tongue betrayed his thoughts, yet she seemed none the wiser and soft laugher bubbled from her thick lips.
“I am called Fig,” she answered in turn unpretentiously, accepting quickly the peculiar behaviour as another normal of this abnormal world. “Nice to meet you Rhoa. Is this your home? It is the most beautiful part of Helovia I have thus far found.” As she revealed her preference, Fig found her eyes slipping from his rich teal gaze past his shoulder, to the kaleidoscope of colour behind. It would have been marvellous if her Soul plant had found root in these parts...
[Sorry if this seems disjointed >.> much kids today......]
