Яikyn

If it wasn’t such a bad thing, the sight of hooves appearing in place of the divots, those hooves leading up to a unicorn mare pretty as sunshine, I might have crowed in excitement, tail twitching madly, eyes wide and eager to learn what magic did that. Her horn, however, is about two and a half inches from my chest, and the bright blue of her eyes is violent in the dim lighting, the assault she drives into like a vengeful angel drawing the sort of impulsive back pedal one earns from most people surprised out of their daylights. A snort of thankful pain (she could have killed me, the bitch!) tinges the cool air, the whisper of her horn tip along the flesh of my chest causing a welted ridge to rise from the impact, the weapon itself tingling where a single step would break my skin, hooves beneath me breaking violently the fallen foliage that, previously, they had so tenderly taken caution to avoid.

The pretty maelstrom isn’t done, the ripples of her moonlight mane rippling as she rears upwards, her blunter weapons a shield between her soft belly and my own rapier as she backs away, a dancer. The sound of her commotion covers the arrival of two others, my golden eyes just now discerning a deer figure behind her, quite different from Ashamin and Thranduil’s smoke covered beasts, but also quite the same. He’s pretty, like her, but I don’t really have time to focus on all that, one ear tilting back in dislike of her shouting, but one still wary of her horn.

It’s that backwards ear and the smell of musk that makes me look away from the shrill shrieking of the guardian siren, a glance of a golden eye tilted back, anyway, because did she really just threaten to skin me?

My head is reeling, overtaxed with all these things, ears pivoting everywhere, hooves tucking tightly beneath my bundled figure in desire to run, my knightly honor denying me such easy retreat. How suddenly it had gone from quiet, from fun, to having an angry woman threatening to kill me, and some hulking guy and his odd fleshy rock creature (what was on its face?) cutting of another side. The snort of the fellow makes me look full on at him, a sheepish slowness to the turning of my head, the child caught with his mouth in the herbal healing supplies, in the dead of winter.

I realize my mouth is open. I close it slowly.

I practiced this, I tell myself, just say what we practiced!

But there is something so confident in Lord Stripes demeanor, something about how he walks in and wrests control of the situation with his presence, and I know I’m in trouble, my tongue won’t form the words of salvation I’d formulated the day before. My eyes flicker to the odd creature accompanying him in between his words – too nervous to blatantly stare, but too curious to not look at all.

Its so ugly, is all I can think, not my rehearsed repertoire of words at all; I let my eyes glance over at the shrill harpie again as he mentions her, before I, at last, meet his steady, earth-bound sapphire gaze with the devious, twinkling brightness of my own.

"Uh, uhm, I, well," I stammer, swallowing the wad of dryness lodged in my throat, breathing, deep.

Smoooooth.

"I am Calor, an Outcast, you see," finally arrive some words, albeit the wrong fucking story (this was not the plan at all brain), "I was invited by, well, a girl."

I pause, take time for a dramatic lowering of my princely visage, a shifting of my golden eyes through the tree line, my tail curving with the flair of a fine actor about my haunches. If it is a girl I’m here for, she probably has family. A father.

I remember the glare of Xynia’s sire all too well. He probably still wants to kick me in the teeth.

"I, er, well, I’m trying, to you know, find her. She was supposed to be at the wall, but she wasn’t."

[ OOC: lirl its so amazing <3 If d'Arcy can come in before Raeden that would rock! ]

in every heart a hole