yael

Her skin begins to itch; it starts at the space between her wings and spreads to the edges of her rump. This is different than the ‘hair on edge’ feeling that one gets in the moment of danger, because, well, there is no danger in the shadow of the Earth Turtle. No physical danger, but apparently Yael isn’t the only one in danger of some sudden emotional sneak-attack.

But the unexpected attention of a surely well-meaning, albeit slightly creepy stallion, is an emotional trigger for the little golden beauty. First, he purposefully invades her personal space, while she is innocently walking away from giving an ornament to the tree. She unknowingly, narrowly avoids contact with the stallion, still blissfully unaware that he has his eyes and ears set on her. She reaches the edge of the growing group of bystanders and settles in the with rest of them, pulling her great set of black-tipped wings in against her sides, to the point where she looks more like a fluffy feather ball with a long, slender neck. Kind of like a golden ostrich - except, you know - prettier.  A single black spot on her chest marrs the almost uniformly gold color scheme she’s got going on.

Had the stallion been any other physical type, he might have been met with another reaction; but when you approach a grieving widow (which he could not possibly have known), and tower over her in the very same manner of her dead mate… well, things are bound to get a little dicey.

Somewhere, in the back of her mind, Yael knows she’s beautiful. Not in an unusual way, like many Helovians are, but in a ‘tiny, graceful, and striking in the sun’ kind of way. Winter was most definitely not her season, but this kind of gathering, where the joy is infectious and she can learn a bit more through observation - where they press together and generate enough heat to keep a poor little desert-dweller like herself warm. She’s lost in her own thoughts (which didn’t take long) when a stallion suddenly appears at her side.

She side-steps away from him, as if his wings could singe her own, alarm radiating from the whites of her eyes and the jerk of her head. Tall ears fall back towards her skull, and as she puts a little distance between them, her nerves steady themselves enough to take all of him - and there is quite a lot - in. Her heart is already pounding, but the pulses find their way to her ears and block everything else out. Large wings. Powerful build. Smooth, deep voice. His wings could be hot pink butterfly wings, and she would still see her lover’s delicately stretched dragon leather in its place. Is it hot there, now, or is he coming back to haunt her? The talon underneath her locks seems to burn his brand into her neck, saying mine, Mine, MINE.

Yael would always be his. She’s carried seven of his massive children in her womb. He literally possessed her body and soul.

But this man has done nothing more than say hello to her, so why the fuck is the little foreign mare freaking out? Deep breath: in and out, in and out. Lest others start to think she’s causing a scene when they’re supposed to be merry, Yael tries to calm down. Her ears return to normal, but she cannot seem to get her vocal cords to work. It’s as if her Vanquish has her by the throat, to the point where she can really only squeak out a “No.”

The Turtle's gift goes unnoticed.

lyanna

Bit by bit, this miserable hellhole has given her back pieces of herself. Her scale gets lost on the tree, surrounded by beautiful items and a few jokes. Perhaps she should feel lucky that the turtle gave her such a kind gift. What had she given in return? Everything, truthfully, but looked like so little. Ah, but in return she is given another piece of the sea, the sound of the ocean like a lullaby to her ears. Oh, how she tires of the land. Of trees, though in this moment, she likes this particular tree.

It glows, and the cheer is infectious. Not that she starts to smile or something, but she finds that she’s feeling a little less miserable about her existence here. Though that doesn’t change the fact she’s been sliding herself away from the mass of horses around the tree, trying to keep out of the group. There are a few faces that she recognizes, though she doesn’t make her way into the crowd to say hello or anything. Screw that. Too many horses.

But the crowd stays, and so she does too. There’s almost always a reason to linger in Helovia. Particularly now, because she’s not aware of any stories where the tree during Magic Day decided to come alive and attack Helovians or anything. There were plenty of times not to linger, though she usually did anyway, because the promise of magic was enough to make her fight birds or raccoons or stare dead things in the face or whatever this place threw at her. She could survive a large crowd and some extra cheer. Probably.


les words "chat chat"

Syrena

let the water take me