the Rift


[PRIVATE] Shining, shivering

Nora Posts: 52
Aurora Basin Mare
Mare :: Pegasus :: 14.2 :: 3
Angel
#1
Eat, drink, sleep. Eat…sleep more. In fact, some days eroded so swiftly via a fretful slumber that I skipped the eating and drinking part all together. In those first days, (even when I’m pressed the point of sweet exhaustion) my mind combats itself. Every hour or so, these eyelids would fly open; flecks of moisture would crawl, forming moats throughout my coat. Real sleep did eventually come…fatigue went the distance and won the uphill skirmish. My worn-out body repaid the act of submission by beginning to truly heal itself.

Days pass, morphing into a breathless blur. Since my arrival…the crowd mercifully left me to own devices. Peaceful rituals emerge, formed to idle those lax hours and comfort my internal demons. Recovering physical strength is easy and brief…it took a matter of days considering the generous amount of magic that had gone into mending…but this fractured mind couldn’t be sewn back together by craft alone…nor with short notice. My heart couldn’t simply ease itself back up from the dread of learned uncertainty. Even in a land swimming with the taste of my own – I’m constantly questioning their reality. The sound of rustling leaves or shadows is enough to skitter my heart. Doubt is a plague, whispering false notions and threats.

Had I really escaped the jaws of my masters?

----

The first rays of light stream into my humble alcove. Hunger aches plea anxiously, sucking on my gut like a tick. Ears slide forward, listening to the quiet world beyond the rim of these dark quarters. Early birds have begun their songs; the muffled, near silent shadow of a red-tailed squirrel flits from a tall, leaning cedar. Forelimbs pull out in front – scrapping against the firm, compact soil. The rear portion of my hovel presses into my rump; the other walls are more forgiving, they allow six or so inches of space to separate me from the cold stone on either side.

Though my abode isn’t spacious, there is just enough room to step inside, (if one ducked) turn around (carefully) and stand (or lay). Hindquarters tense, I lean forward, a dirty lock of hair falls over my eyes. A quick shake sends it aside; knees lock, holding me halfway upright in a sitting position. Wing joint flex, anticipating their release. Half a breath later and I’d managed to emerging from the cave with feathers uncoiling, soaking those scattered rays. Unhinged muscles sigh, relieved to be free of my preference in den.

Travel wear and old aches have fled; but the demands of an empty, ill-nourished gut remain. Irises lift, surveying the familiar (learned) lay of terrain ahead of me. Evergreen marches straight to the mountain; short brush and barbed vine are tangled in the crags above me. Mossy turf spreads under the fallen array of needle and mushrooms grow in abundance around the heart of various elders.

Over time, I’d come to know a few trails; mostly the ones which lead to water and food. Aside from the fleeting caw of a lone, territorial raven and the chatter of various rodents – the forest is quietly waking. Yawning even. Noah…physical needs are momentarily suppressed as I tread upon ignored waters. The bloated bodies of unaddressed issues lay in waiting, rotting in the darkness. His face, those soft blue green irises linger in my mind’s eye. Mini me arches her brow, regarding me skeptically -- I didn’t know where they sent him, or even if he’d stayed in the valley for long.

OC: @Noah


Noah Posts: 59
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 4.5 | def: 7.5 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.3 :: 3 HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Riven
#2
The sun would rise soon. Its warmth would return again (though too briefly), to soothe away remnant aches and pains, all exaggerated by the chill of this hovel – a far crueller version of hell he has since decided gloomily. Little does the gold-topped boy know, because he’s sulking in a sense, mourning and counting his losses, that these are the warmest, brightest months here in all of the year; he dallies, when he should revel in the mild winds; hides, while the strange faces of this land hustle and bustle busily about their obligations. They barely notice the newest man to their ranks, but he is glad to be overlooked, relieved in fact, for peace and quiet is really all he knows. Soft, dewy dawn light is diluting the darkness around him – his veil of invisibility is disintegrating and cool skin flinches, exposed, vulnerable.

“Rest well fair Moon…” he bids softly, fondly. She is the constant in this unruly new world; his guardian and friend.

Already the pale hum of activity is resonating through the valley (the prison, with impenetrable walls on either side), and he fidgets on the spot, stretching stiffness out of one long wing and then the other; a brisk breeze strokes warm ivory beneath and a tingle snakes down the length of his spine. The time is drawing nearer. It has to be…

For the last week (though days more could have passed), he has followed the same routine; the renewed, young warrior has slept little, so not a single moment has been lost to chance. Beneath the guise of a gnarled, pine grove, his improvised sanctuary, he watches her cave across the valley - she seldom materialises from its murky, gaping mouth, and he muses quietly, concerned, for there was not a lot of her to begin with. Aqua eyes scan the dusty, distant doorstep again carefully, though it’s hard to see whether the clipped grass placed down upon it remains withered and dead - or eaten as intended. It is time to fetch more regardless (it might be another day she spends sealed away), and burning muscles drive him into the open before too many of this queer, horned population wake to see.

Almost instantly his measured footfalls find comfort upon spongey, emerald turf. It grows far sweeter here than even the inner sun-kissed island, and amid the various displeasures he has found already (the cold, the crowd, the walls), the taste of the cooler climate growth is very much adored. Hungrily he sinks his lips to the already cropped fringe and forages there greedily for any longer strands before missed - there is a distinct arc spreading away from the tree line around him and eventually he is once more upon its rim, ravaging, expanding. After he is satisfied (though barely full), he plucks a selection of the tallest grass accessible amd clutching it as delicately as possible, he recoils towards the cave.

Often he considers whether their following Toulouse had been the very best decision - really it plagues him, and his thoughts revisit that whirlwind in the forest again and again, desperate for validation. Never does he feel better about it though, nor any safer, and increasingly he tortures himself thinking of the dragon-mare, the quiet mother and the stranger with the naked trees on his head. They had each brought to the table an individual comforting quality; ease it seemed, which the one they had chosen (had they though?), gave least. Thickly lashed eyes blink suddenly as his mind descends back into reality. He is paused, there, still in the open, and his jaw has fastened an unfortunate grip about her gift. A sigh, as though purged from the cavernous depth of despair itself, rattles velvet nostrils and the winged-one moves slowly on to finish his quest.

Had they been railroaded, in their weakest of hours…?

As he turns quietly, pensively, down the last length of the rabbit trail (it curls loosely around a rocky outcrop between), he is stunned to discover the doe outside in the sun. Knees stiffen hesitantly, hooves feel all too suddenly heavy, and cautious eyes survey the situation uncertainly – it was true he’d been avoiding her. The body, so lean and light barely casts any shadow upon the rocky wall behind; it is illuminated, held gently in the grip of first light; exquisite. A bubble catches high in his throat and he swallows hard, saliva gathering along his motionless tongue - between the succulent shoots laid across it. What should he do? He takes a nervous step forward and joints grind together confusedly; flaxen sweeps down before his gaze and nostrils tremble as he procrastinates, dithering inches above bare earth.
Noah
I was born a warrior
I was born a warrior
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Nora Posts: 52
Aurora Basin Mare
Mare :: Pegasus :: 14.2 :: 3
Angel
#3
Contemplation on the whereabouts of my traveling companion(s) become as soft and distant as the waterfalls beyond those evergreens and the rise. Reality pumps its wings across those quiet, musing corners. Restoring another fragment of clarity. Hope. It becomes the first bloom in spring, forcing root upon the charred, upturned terrain. Daring to grow amidst the sorrow and chaos. Lungs suck in the sweet, thin mountain air.  Free…that inner voice whispers, unfettered…liberated. During my captivity, I never counted on freedom – never looked to the day I would escape their clutch. Adaptation required immersion, not just the illusion of it. Those that looked forward to the day of their release became among the first to perish. But now… I step clear of the threshold (my threshold) entirely and merge into the stirring, waking glory of a renewed day.

Now…

The undiluted light becomes tender almost and -despite the call of necessity- I’m inspired to pause, turn my face to it. Lingering in the embrace of peace; allowing it to rain upon emotional scars like a salve. While I'm soaking that newfound resolve to dwell within the moment, absently, I glance down. Something…my expression hardens...odd had been sowed over the rocky floor. Brows narrow. There is... sun-bleached, trampled wheat of various type all strewed about. Mere feet from the mouth of my cave. I lean forward, nostrils quiver into action, scenting and surmising that it couldn’t have grown from the soil below. That clay, sandy loam wasn’t fertile enough to support anything more than peat moss at best. Temples dig a furrow, momentarily I'm lost with bemusement.

How...?

A vision comes to mind – answering a snippet of confusion with a hazy explanation. Very faintly, I can recall chewing on nearby stems during those faded, delirious days. While locked in a space of utter fatigue and restoration, I'd eaten very little and never thought to question the source of gratification.  

My focus shifts and settles on another piece the puzzle. Dispersed near the remains of that decaying flora. Hoof prints! Enormous marks that doubled the width of mine! My pulse became a mallet, hammering in my chest and echoing down the hollow passageways. Mini me looks up from her sunbath; a comforting, rare smile upon her face, ‘he was here.’ I frown and shake my head, instantly retreating to the open embrace of denial. These…might belong to anyone. Her figurative eyes seem to shine, smarting with amusement. She counters and chides with a single word, ‘anyone?’

Er.

I swallow, becoming suddenly wary...but also…intrigued. Then…there is the faintest disturbance nearby. Mayhaps the stir of feathers as they flow over bedrock? I anticipate what I would find even before my neck cranes around to view that materialized suspicion. Mini me smirks with her ‘I told you so’ look and murmurs, ‘impeccable timing,’ before falling uselessly silent. I brace for the forked head of anxiety to rear; for fear to trickle in like a leak that never stopped. But my nerves are slow to form and…surprisingly tame to suppress. Though...hadn't he earned my trust…thrice multiplied? I shove remnants of negativity and doubt back beneath the foamy waves of my subconscious.  

Words bubble to the surface, reaching for the chance to emerge. But none of them are ones he’d understand, "Tu es resté." That admission is hardly at an recoverable octave; but the sound of my dry voice is useful to ground me. This wasn’t a dream. He wasn’t a false reality. Nostrils flare, attempting to drink his scent as I openly trace the chiseled contours, lingering on favored and familiar curves. Rising from the steeled cords of his legs and beyond until finally…I venture to find his green-blue gaze, “hi,” murmured from my collection of sparse vocabulary, I produce a greeting, hoping it would suit him.

Fixed irises flick to the blades between his teeth; a hot flush splashes up my neck, singing my unspoken response to the solution. It was him after all…he’d brought food. "Qu'es-tu," I break off, missing a beat but recognizing my mistake. Before coming here...I'd learned to survive by avoiding contact; but there had been a rare few who bore enough patience to toil through the exchange of words. We often only accomplished this by using simple sentences...and miming or harnessing universal gestures. I put my education to practice and gesture his way with the butt of my snout, simultaneously clicking my jaws together and fanning both ears forward, signaling a willingness to listen and convey, “why?” It wasn’t correct…I’d wanted to ask, ‘what,’ but the meager store I borrowed from is bare boned and lusterless.

OC: @Noah


Noah Posts: 59
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 4.5 | def: 7.5 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.3 :: 3 HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Riven
#4
Sun soaked skin begins to leak hot, damp insecurity, but he stands transfixed as she unfolds from the centre of the mountain like a lovely butterfly from her cocoon. From across the way, hesitant eyes trace the quiet movement of her skull as the bi-toned gems upon its surface absorb the setting; her concentration descends. She explores slowly, methodically perhaps, like a child exploring the vast world she’d been born into; porcelain perfection teeters gingerly above those lean limbs he’d studied many times already, they seem reluctant to carry her any further forward for now. The stallion’s gaze seems to settle, to focus in, and his mind for a moment, forgets the uncertainty which has delayed his journey. She is captivating, and he quickly becomes her slave in the flawlessness of the moment

There is movement behind, ‘herd mates’ hustling about as the morning brightens all around, but Noah stands still and oblivious, he does not flinch like he might have ordinarily (he has been hiding in plain sight!). How curiosity gnaws at him as she inspects the doorstep by her toes, the feeling blooms within him like vivid winter blossoms; and as they crave sunlight, he leans nearer, drawn to radiance. Long ivory quills cling to the near flank, hiding the deliciousness of her dainty feminine curve; the feathers skirting are lush, clean, which astounds him – how is it that earth doesn’t mar her? His mood is changed, lifted, and a small smile tempts the corners of his mouth to crack.

Moments pass, maybe hours, he cannot tell.

Lashes close, sealing a seamless portrait of her against the black backdrop. They open again almost drunkenly, and sudden dread grips his heart; it squeezes so fiercely that his lungs sob for air. Enchanting, delicate features of her face now point his way, tiny ears are trained upon him, pink and blue pools swim easily across the distance (yet small), and he is startled, stupid, lost. Like the soft melody of the sea he so craves, her thoughts arise into the open, words lost amid the foreign string of her tongue – he nods, lower lip quivering, near flapping in the mild wind. As she draws a deep breath, fairy nostrils flared yet still toy, he wonders brazenly what message is born to her hungering tastebuds; whether he exists, or if it is the wild, regard hue of pine-mountains that invigorates her.

Then once again she speaks and forward fixed ears pounce eagerly upon the familiar syllable; “hi!” is the answer, so sudden its sound devours the tenor of her own. He is bashful before her – a servant boy caught so unexpectedly in the company of his princess; immediately his enthusiasm retracts, and visibly he appears to blush. Allowing half-mast gaze to return, he notes that she is looking south, just short of is mask, and like a stinging slap he remembers, the grass! As she speaks again (in her strange lingo), teeth place the soggy gift by his feet – once bitten, twice shy, and then he takes two strides in reverse. He inspects it for only a second thereafter, and realises the care he’d intended had failed somewhere along the line (much of it seemed bruised, and more still, was cloaked in saliva…).

Neat ears are set forward and he glances by them with a discerning eyes; the impression she gave was not like that terror he’d known before. “Food,” he remarks with less hastiness this time round, investing enormous energy into ensuring she understands that the grass is supposed to be eaten – modestly, he spares a glance by the floor near her to see whether the previous offerings lay still upon the alter. He is tempted to demonstrate, but quickly reprimands his ridiculousness – starvation certainly looked less lovely. Banishing the thought, he addresses her wellbeing artfully. “You,” lips brush by the clean, pink scars of his own before gesturing (not too) near her, “ok?”

He feels calm, surprisingly so, and even meets the whisper of her eye with a rising smile.  
Noah
I was born a warrior
I was born a warrior
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Nora Posts: 52
Aurora Basin Mare
Mare :: Pegasus :: 14.2 :: 3
Angel
#5
Just like those lonely months spent in captivity, in isolation. I couldn't broach a useful conversation -- nor question or test his morals.

In all ways, we are perfect strangers; tethered by experience, but wholly ignorant. We hardly knew anything about each other. And despite the slew of unanswered questions that circle my mind regarding him, flagging caution, begging for answer…I feel myself softening, favoring his charitable perception. Despite our obvious differences, he is steady in provision. Noah’s empathy and tolerance continue to surprise, befuddle and refresh me; but I had no template to compare him with. He is different from everything I’d known before. Unlike my captors, he didn’t use physical/emotional leverage to hold me beneath his heel, tether our conversation with threats, guilt or false hope; nor did he root our newborn bond with confusion and riddles…the eagle speaks and acts purposely, choosing simple responses rather than the rapid, complex utterance of those who’d come before him. Ears prick, quenching my socially starved mind on his downpour of mercy and consideration.  

When the question of my well-being arose, a meek smile filters in …and for the first time in a long while…my answer isn’t born from what he expected to hear – nor does it rise with an obligation to conceal emotion. “Yes,” lips murmur; I nod, further supporting my reply as a genuine one.

Irises drop to the turf he’d brought along. Consideration weighs the risk – my hungry gut snarls, angered by the delay.  

Those quivering, grumbling innards overwhelm the debate; physical need summons me closer. Go ahead, it seems to whisper, imploring. Though my eyes are fixed somewhere between the ground and his forelimbs – my imagination runs amuck and assumes the weight of his eyes are on me nevertheless. Judging me? Goose chills rise on my skin, enticing a shiver...Yet, also making me uncomfortably hot despite the lukewarm glare of sunlight. Nostrils lower, stretching to arrive at my destination before the vast majority of me does. Ears creep forward, habit embedded awareness. The sweet, sugared aroma wafers eagerly upward – enticing my hunger to become more insistent. His scent lavishes the blades, I lean down, irises crane up…asking permission before sinking to snag mouthful into my hungry, baited jaws. The emerald grains settle lightly into my belly. Before long, the entire offering has vanished. Unflinchingly, my snout drifts over the floor, harrowing in on the remainder. Feathers quiver, rustling against my trembling, sweltered flesh. They loosen for comfort, allowing air to flow between those humid contours.

The meager (but thoughtful) stash might’ve kept hunger at bay during fits of sleep – but it wasn’t nearly enough now. If anything, my craving for nourishment doubled. Gems lift, studying the male with passive intrigue, rather than fabricated animosity. He’d put everything on the line for me…and went further still. Noah...he offered uncustomary warmth and security; frosty negativity has already begun to fade. His empathy fans the ember of trust…I feel a change in my regard for him. There is something waking in the darkness; something beyond the simple desire to understand and be understood.

There are few similarities, physically, we are as different as the moon and sun.

He. A golden, dappled king with upstanding breeding and gorgeous, masculine anatomy. And I? A gutter wench; the depraved pet who’d slipped her collar. My heartstrings throb nervously, resonating a warning to tread with caution. But as I study the kindly, boxy, sculpted line along his jaw and drift downward – my gaze and focus become centered on the badges he earned for my sake. Shame devastates me, my bemused, inquisitive exploration crumbles; the price of freedom shouldn’t have been his to pay. Had I remained a captive, our chance meeting wouldn’t have transpired. Perhaps even, the traumatizing of his impeccable canvas would’ve been avoided.

Paper thin nostrils flare, drowning in the pheromones of unmarked terrain. That self-preserving, learnt instinct to be the wall flower – to feel self-conscious and cautious -- becomes momentary preoccupied with compassion and the all-consuming flavor of him. To me…he smelled like summertime, salt and sun-dried wheat. But also, there was something sweet and inviting about him… like the shade of a weeping pine or the cool, forgiving soil beside a stream. Brows arch, signaling questions that I didn’t know how to ask. Instead…I follow the pull of my subconscious as she eases me closer. Forefeet edge a step or so in his direction, my neck extends – asking for permission to solidify upon his marred tawny skin. Erase the damage, take the wound upon myself. Between us, that static, taunt air seems to crack; my pulse thickens, drumming loudly. Another spasm of heat rises to my face, yet, I surge with the desire to breach that bubble of seclusion.  Wordlessly sooth and answer his compassion with something tangible. Something he could see and feel – since our words couldn’t accurately express gratitude or pity.  The insecurity and possibility of rejection comes blaring into view only when turning back becomes awkward and impossible for me.

Irises are locked upon those brackish lines, tears prick the corners – a fist grabs my throat, constricting airflow. I freeze, halfway immersed in my breach of our personal space. That dark memory of our collective demon pours itself over me; a drench, it ices the warmth in my eyes and wounds the starving trust in my expression. I’ve poured my grief into the furthest corners, fabricating a shield, a mask; but that didn’t mean it wasn’t still there, “ow,” I whisper remorsefully, sympathetically; all the while blinking back those withheld drops of salty water, even as they burn to fall.  

OC: @Noah


Noah Posts: 59
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 4.5 | def: 7.5 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.3 :: 3 HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Riven
#6
Progress…

There, a smile which has not graced his face in days, but now it is itching to sprawl across the soft lines of his mouth, twitching, trying. Hope begins to drown out tension, knots beneath his coloured canvas start to unravel, slowly; Noah is immediately relieved to learn that she, the frail-looking dove his care has attached to, is alright (astounded to say the least, yet pleased all the same). There had been moments that day and for a good time after, which he’d perceived might be their end, their ruin; he had boldly feared the worst - falling together, like sacrificial lambs on Netherworld’s bloody alter. While he prefers to avoid revisiting those raw, embedded memories of the ordeal (they haunt his slumber instead), he can’t help but worry constantly for another ambush similar; more black-barred demons purged from hell’s fiery belly to tear them away from life.

For now, nagging concern gives way to something less morbid though - she stands with him still, today, and there seems to be no trace of the wild trepidation that was fuelling her before.

Optimism beads on his coat like dew on the new spring grass.

He drinks deeply her airy, girly fragrance, watches with ever expanding interest (budding enthusiasm, no matter how enigmatic she seems), as her narrow crest bends beneath a fluid sweep of shining liver-brown; rogue strings float playfully apart from the mass, winking cheekily every so often as their otherwise invisible length, reflects the clear morning’s radiance. Deliberately measured and smooth movements slide his towering frame further back, granting her the space and access rid of his long, looming shadow; a gesture both equally respectful and instinctive. Though he makes earnest an effort to let her eat in peace, he is fascinated by her toy figure, and can’t quite pull his stubborn gaze from the elegant angles of the lithe body  trailing behind; though they shared each feathers in common, they were dissimilar in almost every other way.

A small while later, her enticing, colourful eyes lift to find him - his own wander left simultaneously, unwilling to reveal the extent of his feeling or let it hamper this unexpected trust she shows. Beyond her, the granite face of the silent mountain is aglow in early rays of warm gold; rugged, unanticipated beauty, detail beyond belief, yet his nomadic heart still isn’t soothed into submission. The shadowy, unfriendly crevice from which she’d woken beckons down his blinking focus; the wind, the sky, even drenching monsoonal rain seemed better appetising than such a sinister tomb. The dove is a paradox before him, and he returns to her slowly, with still more questions than before…

Brawny mesh across his tightens suddenly. The velvet softness (he imagines), of her tiny, tapering nose lingers in the air between them, so too do the neat toes she stands over inch nearer - but even as her courage intensifies, there is a stalling moment (he feels, predicts) and he believes it to vanish into the mild, caressing wind. Noah’s heart skips, and his burly shoulders roll beneath the pressure of disappointment. His hope, like withered leaves, falls fast - she is as untameable as the tides of the moon-kissed tide; but he is hardly deterred from her presence and smiles understandingly, kindly. Theirs is a game of give and take, of compromise. ‘Ow’, his mind’s eye repeats, the sound of her gentle tone distorting harshly as his throat rumbles in preparation. His chin bounces twice - yes.“Fixed,” he tells her afterward, and flexes the joint beneath so that she might believe it true.

Still he didn’t understand the sorcery which had sown their wounds back together - it was phenomenal, and his expression shed hint of remnant disbelief. His past held nothing but the magic of earth’s gifts - herbs, paint and song; and though he truly missed his island home (it gnawed savagely), there were parts of this strange new world that intrigued him; creatures that challenged his slim level understanding. Softly he blows through flaccid nares; he has witnessed the stirring of others here many times over now and knows that they will meet the sunrise with a hum of activity. “We walk?” He asks calmly, suggesting nothing of his awareness, instead turning with quiet motion from her with a beckoning flick of blonde lashes. Perhaps she would find comfort by the grove he enjoys - there is grass, cover and water near by.
Noah
I was born a warrior
I was born a warrior
Image | Coding
Plots | Absences | Wishlist
Please tag me in openers and spars
Permission for all except death
(no need to ask)

Nora Posts: 52
Aurora Basin Mare
Mare :: Pegasus :: 14.2 :: 3
Angel
#7
That universal gesture, the nodding, pulls my burning gaze from wallowing in the reality of my sin against him. Irises peek upward, tears brace against the internal weight and responsibility that the fledged warrior is obviously (to me) concealing. His reply ricochets off the invisible barrier, silken threads flash against my heels in response. Frustration toward our handicap sparks; here is yet another exotic sound that bears no meaning. Irises carve a downward path, tenderly falling upon his tawny, tainted shoulder as it ripples and budges. Though the disfigured meat doesn’t seem to hinder my savior in the slightest; guilt isn’t so easily alleviated. It might take a long time to fade (if it ever did.) Rebuked by inner conflicts, my head retracts, curling inward protectively – as if that extra distance would drown the hot, charged atmosphere between us.

The wind stirs, whispering in the trees. A pair of dusted sparrows dart into the canopy, their sharp, muffled cries (which could mean anything) disappear into the distance. We walk? Ears slant backward and temples delve, wordlessly (unhelpfully) answering his question with scrunched confusion. Inexpressible lips curl downward as vexed emotions bubble to the surface of my mind. Our brief attempts at conversation highlight a timeworn truth, ‘two steps forward, one step back.’ But rather than waste effort on riddling his words, I scan, searching for those tiny gestures and hints. Despite the fog of doubt (which is fueled by a perception of mediocre abilities) invading my heart, I remain naively hung to the idea that he might bring clarity with body language alone.

As if taking cue, the eagle turns aside; casting a glance rearmost with what I perceive as an expectation. That’s when the light bulb of realization hums to life. His smog lifts fractionally, allowing brackish beams of light to filter through the obscurity. A downcast expression can’t help but brighten. Ears rise, resuming their watchful, engrossed position now that uncertainty has bowed into a blissful sense of progress. Outwardly, my crown politely averts; but inwardly -deep inside- mini me gawks, openly appreciating those masculine, square lines of perfection. A timid word of verification mounts behind my lips, “follow?” Brows arch slightly while these dual hue eyes tilt upward to track the lines of his expression like a road-map. Unlike my previous self-imposed masters…his request doesn’t seem like one that took the form of an order. The right forelimb lifts, pushing me another trembling step nearer; highlighting a willingness to show my obedience to him. Mini me isn't so cautious today -- she skips along, grinning fresh encouragement from the shadows. Irritably, my aching gut rumbles.


Noah Posts: 59
Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 4.5 | def: 7.5 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Pegasus :: 16.3 :: 3 HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Riven
#8
Of course ‘progress’ is probably an overstatement. The understanding between the delicate dove and her self-appointed minder, is more like dogged-determination against all odds, and reason; or just plain stupidity. They are like summer and winter, night and day, a fish - floundering beside water; the peculiar duo are not dissimilar to the stray whale calf he’d once discovered, stranded in the sunlight without reason for hope - only the poor creature had perished upon those scorching white sands, and Noah was more than unwilling to see his brittle charge today, suffer that same fate. Not on his watch. Not at all!

With the issue of trust and volatility (in regards to: he wasn’t going to eat her at least), more or less out of the way, it became rather apparent that their two opposite languages was cause for concern. Her feminine features seem to shift beneath a surge of discouragement and even he wonders disconcertedly, how they could possibly go about breaching that bothersome rampart. He offers her a reassuring grin all the same, still turning across densely feathered limbs - double the size of her own. Similar to the initial reaction when first he’d placed eyes upon her, there was a valorous strength of will driving him forward; a virile heart, fluttering hormones and undeniable attraction fed his stubborn-faced resilience.  

Her perfectly exotic jaws part after a moment of consideration (though pale eyes turn away), and his ears rest forward optimistically; his mind is trained upon her like a bloodhound to a scent. Relieved, he nods, and bright flaxen swings from the left side of his face to the right - “yes, follow!” Giant frame pauses long enough to elaborate, educate, “follow, we walk, keeping it simple for the sake of that feeble confidence owning her. Again success fuels him, feeds ambition through his being, though he is curious about her native tongue also; wonderfully romantic syllables that blend together like poetry. How could he bring her to utter it: words which rolled off her tongue in a timbre of warmth, melodic sounds distinctly foreign and as enchanting as the ethereal quality she embodied.

“Walk…” he reiterates gently, resuming the slow amble which might see them further from that queer grinning mouth in the mountainside.

The valley had seemed without her, cold (no paradise), lonely and isolated; though the inhabitants around them were many, without conversation or company, the decent into doubt and insecurity had been swift. Now, anticipating the sound of fairy-footsteps behind, the silver and gold stallion is comparatively elated, with purpose and direction; his knees lift higher and his crest arches once more, its tall, vertical length. Everything seems so much brighter with her near. His eyes have already travelled forward, and they trace the winding line of the goat-track to the fork (he has walked it many times now). Should they follow the left branch, they will come upon his pine copse, the soft, honeyed grass she could dine on; to the right (and north), the freezing basin lake lays hidden behind a jut of hillside.

Turning his whiskered chin to the side, the stallion tempts another clash with that barrier. “Food?” he questions clearly, then promptly swings lips low to lip at the stringy grass beyond his hoof.
Noah
I was born a warrior
I was born a warrior
Image | Coding
Plots | Absences | Wishlist
Please tag me in openers and spars
Permission for all except death
(no need to ask)

Nora Posts: 52
Aurora Basin Mare
Mare :: Pegasus :: 14.2 :: 3
Angel
#9
Follow…one of the few words known by heart. Faintly, the source of said utterance stirs bittersweet memories to the surface of my mind. A stern, dappled face beckons my attention from beneath the figurative surface...but when I look up...that internal conflict shrinks beneath the compassion of the eagle. Merciful distractions plunge those unaddressed issues back into the depths. Even still... those unsealed wounds twinge with sourness and neglect. Mini me groans irritably and whispers under her breath, ‘he isn’t the potion master who owned us.’ Of course not…

My desire to heed is dimmed by internal, questioning salt -- guilt and curiosity are what  bend my will to his desire. In an effort to mimic his eagerness, I take that first step, “follow,” my slender, malnourished head dips agreeably. Thin toes fall into the indention's his feathered, giant feet leave behind. I sink in myself, thankful that his instruction and the brief relay of a new term is paired with unbothered silence which suits my lack of social grace. But it wasn’t long before the forest offers diversion from my hangry stomach and those internal frays of guilt and déjà vu.

A chitchatting, barking grey squirrel yips aggressively at us from the safety of an evergreen canopy. When my irises venture off to the right of said path they find a female hind merging from the shadows into the dusted sunlight. Her mouse colored ears swivel like dials; continuously watching our every move. Though to me…her caution feels slight, as if she were unafraid. I glance rearmost, watching her cross the path as soon as we pass. In some ways, these lands could replicate the one I'd fled from. The cold, terrain, local flora – all of it fits into the framework of my captivity. The only difference…there weren’t fangs on the branch of every other tree, nor prey milling around like scorned whelps.

Gems cycle upward, centering upon shifting, rippling tawny hindquarters and the tidy, silken locks that ran abundantly from the top of his dock. Male vocals throw a pebble against my bubble, surprising me. These ears dart rearward – uncertainty already filtering over my expression...then...he dips to the ground and lips at the turf beneath. My subconscious puzzles out a variety of solutions immediately, “food,” I murmur in his tongue, testing the word. Limbs pause, giving me time to dip and snap meekly at the brisk stalks. "Herbe?" The act of tying a word would take more than one instance; and until we developed an understanding of each other...I could only test the water and anticipate his intentions.



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