No matter the scents she carried (like the livery she wore presently, a scent of leaf and mineral and other horses she had yet to know) she would always consider this place where the ocean mated with the shore to be her true home. It was here where she had pulled and crafted and forced her magic upon the great and untameable, here where she froze and boiled and shaped the very essence of life itself; for without water and earth, the world would be a desolate place indeed. Now, when she should be in the Falls making acquaintances, forging power, doing what she had always planned to do—all she wanted was to be out on the coastline again, wandering up and down her old, familiar haunts.

It had taken her a couple days to reach the Endless Blue, for she had visited the location of all the primary ponds and rivers she could recall along the way. It was not only the Blue that held sway over her; whether stream or lake or sea, she was held captive to the whisper of the waves and the reek of long-dead aquatic life washed to shore.

She breathed deeply, delighting in the scent of salt and brine, and stepped out onto the narrow band of hard wet sand a few feet away from the water. The grit caught up in her sparse feathering, chafing against her skin, but that was little price to pay to feel the immense and eternal power of the sea beside her. Nymeria wished it could always be like this, that she might always have such a magnificent well of power to draw from. Her gifts required a liquid presence, and although blood proved to work well (if slightly trickier when inside a body), she couldn’t exactly chose at a whim to wrench blood away from her herd mates.

Come to think of it, perhaps carrying a bottle of water or enchanted blood on her person would be useful. With her particular magic, the possibilities were very much endless even with a small quantity of fluid.

Nymeria shook her head idly to press away the encumbering thoughts. There was someone else out in the Blue—someone who was flying. Her red eyes lifted to follow the pegasus’ path, to chart his rise and descent. It was difficult to judge from this distance, but he seemed… practically behemoth—and not quite equine. It was something, Nymeria thought, about the way his silhouette looked against the golden sun… soft-edged and rich, something she couldn’t quite name.

As she approached and he descended, pieces suddenly fell into place.

He isn’t equine.

Hooked claws, a curving beak, glossy feathers; he was a hybrid (lo and behold!) with wings that blotted out the sky.

She wondered if he could talk with that mouth of his, with his teeth melted together. Or if he understand her language, for that matter; why, he was practically an alien! How fascinating, she mused—how did an eagle and a horse ever wind up fucking one another?  

Everyone thinks that we're perfect,

Please don't let them look through the curtains