12-27-2015, 10:06 PM
In his many years living in the Beqanna, Hurricane has increasingly found the uncommon growing far more common. It is the hazard of magic, he supposes, and if he had been one for nostalgia, this might have made him so. In ages past, when he had been young, he had been considered unique. A stallion with his gifts, born of two women, had been a sight rarely seen. Today, the circumstances of his birth might be considered almost boringly common.
So to see a pale stallion with golden stripes crossing the border of his kingdom surprises him not at all, even if it is something he has not seen before.
He had perched himself atop the great ice wall, standing sentinel over the lone entrance into the kingdom, giving him an unfettered view of those who might enter. Which, he will grant, is not many. But today there is one. He is rapidly greeted by Brynmor, who appears to have been the reason for the newcomer’s arrival. The man might be odd, but he is proving a useful asset to the kingdom. Whatever his origins might be, his actions have certainly spoken for him. Being a man of action rather than word, this holds more than enough significance for Hurricane to judge on his own.
Spreading his pale wings wide, he leaps from the lofty height of his perch, floating easily down to join the small group. He notes another has approached, a small mare he has never met before. She smells of the Tundra though, so he knows simply by this fact that she cannot be a foreigner.
He lands amongst them with a creak of ice beneath his feet and a rustle of feathers as he folds his wings. He is in time to hear the roan mare’s introduction, ironically named Roan, before offering a simple introduction of his own.
”Welcome. I am Hurricane.”
So to see a pale stallion with golden stripes crossing the border of his kingdom surprises him not at all, even if it is something he has not seen before.
He had perched himself atop the great ice wall, standing sentinel over the lone entrance into the kingdom, giving him an unfettered view of those who might enter. Which, he will grant, is not many. But today there is one. He is rapidly greeted by Brynmor, who appears to have been the reason for the newcomer’s arrival. The man might be odd, but he is proving a useful asset to the kingdom. Whatever his origins might be, his actions have certainly spoken for him. Being a man of action rather than word, this holds more than enough significance for Hurricane to judge on his own.
Spreading his pale wings wide, he leaps from the lofty height of his perch, floating easily down to join the small group. He notes another has approached, a small mare he has never met before. She smells of the Tundra though, so he knows simply by this fact that she cannot be a foreigner.
He lands amongst them with a creak of ice beneath his feet and a rustle of feathers as he folds his wings. He is in time to hear the roan mare’s introduction, ironically named Roan, before offering a simple introduction of his own.
”Welcome. I am Hurricane.”
There is never a day that goes by
that is a good day to die.
Hurricane
