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02-19-2016, 04:43 PM
The mare is used to strange reactions to her appearance by those of Helovia. She had yet to find one who did not react in some shade of surprise at her appearance. At first, it had been strange— for she was one of the lesser adorned citizens of her culture. Truly, only her poison-barbed tail (yet unknown to her that the poison had left when she entered Helovia) had set her apart from those in the legions. Most had sharper teeth, or more of them. More fins, spikes along their spines, colors brighter and deadlier than her simple tan and aqua stripes. She had been average, save for her intelligence, agility, and perseverance.
But here, it was not the case.
Her ridges, her scales, her stripes; they all drew wide-eyed stares and questions. Though, never had they drawn outright fear— until she was looking ay the frightened eyes and stumbling steps of the yearling colt. Scaled ears jerked at the youthful whinny, so filled with terror and surrender.
A harsh snort forced through the ridged nostrils, large eyes narrowing and fins waving slightly in irritation. “I’ll not hurt you, little colt,” her throaty growl sliced through the panic and roar of the pit. Though her irritation is swept aside as her gaze found the backward step and pebbles scattering to the hungry inferno below.
‘Don’t be stupid, boy,’ it was idiotic to fall to a preventable death. He was of no use dead, no one was. Though she did not voice these things, instead issuing a short command, “Step away from the edge.” And she followed her own order, stepping carefully backwards to give the misshapen foal distance from her severe, shocking appearance.
Ears twisted, listening and trying to decipher any danger from the echoing roar of flames against the rocks. She watched, listened, wondering. Again, her throaty voice cut through the hot air, though it wasn’t a growl this time, “Why are you so scared?” There was a difference between caution and fear. Aquila exercised much of the first. Why would a young foal have so much of the latter?
But here, it was not the case.
Her ridges, her scales, her stripes; they all drew wide-eyed stares and questions. Though, never had they drawn outright fear— until she was looking ay the frightened eyes and stumbling steps of the yearling colt. Scaled ears jerked at the youthful whinny, so filled with terror and surrender.
A harsh snort forced through the ridged nostrils, large eyes narrowing and fins waving slightly in irritation. “I’ll not hurt you, little colt,” her throaty growl sliced through the panic and roar of the pit. Though her irritation is swept aside as her gaze found the backward step and pebbles scattering to the hungry inferno below.
‘Don’t be stupid, boy,’ it was idiotic to fall to a preventable death. He was of no use dead, no one was. Though she did not voice these things, instead issuing a short command, “Step away from the edge.” And she followed her own order, stepping carefully backwards to give the misshapen foal distance from her severe, shocking appearance.
Ears twisted, listening and trying to decipher any danger from the echoing roar of flames against the rocks. She watched, listened, wondering. Again, her throaty voice cut through the hot air, though it wasn’t a growl this time, “Why are you so scared?” There was a difference between caution and fear. Aquila exercised much of the first. Why would a young foal have so much of the latter?
Aquila
@Milo she hasn't figured out that he's not talking, yet >.>
Please tag Aquila in all posts.
