I see only by the light of my skin

[OPEN] I see only by the light of my skin

Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549

Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5

Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT

Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit Bunnie

03-24-2016, 12:47 PM

Several small creatures scurry through the bush behind him, startled yet again at the sight of a rich, brown unicorn staring at them with some measure of surprise, water dripping from his bearded chin.

What was that about? he thinks to himself, peering with a lowered crown into the trees, searching for a disturbance as much with his sense of hearing as he did his smell, and sight. Through the barren, hanging branches of the willows, there is a much broader depth of vision than during the spring, a field of gaps between trunks and shrubbery spanning a good many yards in.

The stag spies her after a short time’s search, drawn to her even more quickly by the sounds of her hooves stamping against the dead, snow sodden brush lining the forest floor, the occasional blast of her breath sending plumes of white into the air – though the plumes were all he saw of her face, which was hidden, at this distance, by an elder willow standing between himself and her. With a deep inhalation her smell, he determines her gender, and though he spies iridescent wings from between the trees, he doesn’t immediately recoil at the notion of talking to her. There is something familiar about the way she smells, something that makes him think he knows her…

So it’s not long before he’s through the short span that separates them, golden eyes falling on her features with some measure of surprise – she has a horn.

It is not often he encounters winged unicorn, and so it takes the boy-man some time to recover from the initial upheaval of his thoughts at seeing the confliction of her crown, spiraled and ebony, and the abominations rising from her shoulders. He tries to picture her without the wings, mostly because its more comfortable to him, but no matter how hard he tries to force reality into submission, the more glaringly obvious her wrongness is to him.

Unlike most of his conversations, his hind hoof does not alter its angle to rest with leisure beneath him. All four of his cloven hooves remain steadfastly where they are, even when he finds his voice.

"That time of the season?" he asks, the sort of fellow to blame everything a woman is doing on the fact that she is a woman. That the question is horribly sexist, and thereby rude, is a notion which does not make it to his face, which he manages to mold into a smile of cordial greeting, despite the queer confliction of his instincts to both like and hate her at the same time. Drawing from his memories, his lessons, while in the ancient cavern of the Nightwalk, he tries his best to put aside his distrust of those who are malformed as she is, especially because there is still the nagging sensation that he should know her. "Or is it something more?"