As the dark figure turned to face her, she was able to view him more clearly. Her gaze swallowed him in open appraisal, from his midnight rich color to the shimmering bolt blue of his hair. Then she took in his glorious wings, massive and somehow elegant. She felt a mild pang of envy before she buried it. A coy little smirk gently tilted her lips.
The man asked her name then, chuckling at her blunt manner of speaking. "Wallace," she supplied simply, her smile widening of its own accord in response to his deep laughter.
He was a handsome one, wasn't he? She suddenly thought it a shame she was too young to be considered pretty, though she doubted even age would solve that. Her grullo was truly quite dullo and she often wished she could be the glorious black her adopted mother Zara had worn so gracefully. Or possible any other color save for boring variants of grey-brown. She pursed her lips. Well, no matter. T'was not as if she could change it.
He spoke of his homeland then, and she listened with interest, her mind calculating. Hm, freedom was a large part of their lives, he'd claimed. She frowned. "Ischia, you say?" she asks with a minimal tilt to her head. She'd heard of a few places in passing, but she seemed to recall one very specific obstacle with that one.
Her eyes slid to his great wings, and her face fell. She replaced it swiftly as she analyzed how on earth she could possibly arrive there. An island, she'd heard it was. She had no wings, no magic. No way of travel save for her extraordinarily natural hooves. With an extra bit of ordinary, for good measure.
How to approach the topic without appearing so helpless...
She softly cleared her throat. "And how would one not so," her gaze fell on his beautifully feathered appendages again, "fortunate... go about arriving? It is an island, correct?"
Wallace