|
Prancing, whirling, leaping, the little stallion approaches in a maniac dance. A creature of fairytale, though his story is a surreal tangle of twisted logic and utter nonsense. The Cheshire Cat, or Chester as he is called in this new land, is drawn by the pale-haired moon-child, some inner instinct telling him she is a rare beast even if he does not know why. The grulla steed is intriguing too, of course, smelling of the icy plains where he himself has chosen to settle, though the horned herd scent speaks of the band who will accept only unicorns into their ranks. The Cat knows the group well enough, dancing along the edges, never truly a part, yet not a loner either.
Luminous yellow orbs focus on the duo he has joined, unnerving in their intensity. The two are regarded silently for long moments before passing some unknown test, and the pony sized unicorn flashes a peculiar crescent grin that almost defies the equine bone structure. “You seek something, Wanderer.” It is unclear who he is addressing, the lost flicka or the roaming stag. Perhaps the comment is meant for both of them, for aren’t both striving toward unknowable purpose?
The combination of moonlight, snow, and some indefinable feeling makes this an almost magical night. A time for magic, a time for council, a timeless time. Such thoughts entertain the luridly colored beastling, and his mind drifts away from the meeting he has joined. Only the softest swishing of his leonine tail and the faint rise and fall of his sides betray the fact that he has not turned to stone. An eerie stillness has settled over Chester, a subtle reminder that he is not what he seems, but rather a wise, mysterious creature. He is dangerous, in a way, a being who was never meant to travel across this world. He is here, however, and for now he means his companions no harm.
|
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
