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Ridges undulate as the pale giant speaks, a physical manifestation of how his voice rankles her ears. He tells her to ‘forgive the use of magic,’ and a disbelieving snort leaves her flared nostrils. Overlarge eyes flash, bright aqua and yellow nearly glowing with violence— lips that had closed over her teeth after she spoke peel back once again. Her tail flicks so sharply that an older barb comes free, spearing towards the frozen, snow-dusted ground. But it splinters as it hits the earth, fragile in its old age.
A scaled ear flicks towards the soft sound of cracking, “Forgive me if I use weapons of my own, Cem.” Her growl is deep, harsh with anger as this old nag insults her. Rob her of sight to get her alone? If he wanted her alone for a fight, he succeeded— for the militant mare was bristling and shifting, preparing for battle—
But the cream stud continues, even as her haunches gather beneath her and her shoulders square; and she pauses. He comes from a herd? He wanted to lead her there? Many run from strangers? Many run from strangers in these woods? “I am not like many. Most run from me,” was her snarled reply— but she has not lunged, yet. She is listening to this sneaking, untrustworthy man.
“You saved a child.” He must be speaking of the child from the pit, the silent, deformed foal that was both scared and curious in the same moment. “Kahelo? He can speak?” He must have spoke to tell this man, or his herd, of her actions in the caves. Warily, her head lifts from its snaking, striking position while her pinned ears slowly sweep forward. An unblinking eye flicks towards Cem’s pale, scraping hoof, hide twitching uneasily at the sound.
“I am no hero,” she finally growls, tail-tip twitching agitatedly. She was a failed hero, a soldier sent to find salvation, but could not bring it to her people. “Does your Hidden Falls have a healer for my veleta?” her next question is abrupt, accompanied with a wince as she swings forward the limply-hanging fin from her face, indicating that is what she meant. She paused for a long moment, debating, before (finally) offering, “I am Aquila.”
A scaled ear flicks towards the soft sound of cracking, “Forgive me if I use weapons of my own, Cem.” Her growl is deep, harsh with anger as this old nag insults her. Rob her of sight to get her alone? If he wanted her alone for a fight, he succeeded— for the militant mare was bristling and shifting, preparing for battle—
But the cream stud continues, even as her haunches gather beneath her and her shoulders square; and she pauses. He comes from a herd? He wanted to lead her there? Many run from strangers? Many run from strangers in these woods? “I am not like many. Most run from me,” was her snarled reply— but she has not lunged, yet. She is listening to this sneaking, untrustworthy man.
“You saved a child.” He must be speaking of the child from the pit, the silent, deformed foal that was both scared and curious in the same moment. “Kahelo? He can speak?” He must have spoke to tell this man, or his herd, of her actions in the caves. Warily, her head lifts from its snaking, striking position while her pinned ears slowly sweep forward. An unblinking eye flicks towards Cem’s pale, scraping hoof, hide twitching uneasily at the sound.
“I am no hero,” she finally growls, tail-tip twitching agitatedly. She was a failed hero, a soldier sent to find salvation, but could not bring it to her people. “Does your Hidden Falls have a healer for my veleta?” her next question is abrupt, accompanied with a wince as she swings forward the limply-hanging fin from her face, indicating that is what she meant. She paused for a long moment, debating, before (finally) offering, “I am Aquila.”
men have drowned
in seas such as these
in seas such as these
Please tag Aquila in all posts.
