04-28-2017, 07:16 AM
The salt air is brisk, but Ivar ignores the chill on his skin. He is too caught up in excitement at finding the others, a twist of fate just like in all of Mother’s stories. As they wait for Longcclaw to join them on the beach, the tobiano’s brown gaze settels briefly on Castile’s single dragon wing. He’s fairly certain that they’d both been feathered on their jaunt down the beach moments before, and the change is intriguing. He doesn’t have time to comment on it as Longclaw joins them.
The blue colt is different than he’d been the last time Ivar had seen him as well, and the brown-eyed colt looks curiously at the pawed feet and wolfy snout. Is everyone going to change? Is he? Even Bristol’s wings have shifted, and only Ivar remains plain, wingless, and perfectly equine. He’s never had the chance to develop low self-esteem, of course, so rather than feel left out he feels fortunate to have found such varied company.
Longclaw seems to be struggling to speak. It’s probably something to do with the weird way his mouth is currently shaped, Ivar thinks. He interprets the other boy’s look his way as a request, and tells the other two foals that: “This is Longclaw. I met him at the Playground.”
Castile’s other wing is now leathery as well, and Ivar is positive they’d been feathered before. He tries, just for a moment, to change parts of himself. Nothing happens, but rather than be disappointed, he just asks the others: “Do you all live here in Nerine? My mom brought me to play but I’m from Sylva.”
The blue colt is different than he’d been the last time Ivar had seen him as well, and the brown-eyed colt looks curiously at the pawed feet and wolfy snout. Is everyone going to change? Is he? Even Bristol’s wings have shifted, and only Ivar remains plain, wingless, and perfectly equine. He’s never had the chance to develop low self-esteem, of course, so rather than feel left out he feels fortunate to have found such varied company.
Longclaw seems to be struggling to speak. It’s probably something to do with the weird way his mouth is currently shaped, Ivar thinks. He interprets the other boy’s look his way as a request, and tells the other two foals that: “This is Longclaw. I met him at the Playground.”
Castile’s other wing is now leathery as well, and Ivar is positive they’d been feathered before. He tries, just for a moment, to change parts of himself. Nothing happens, but rather than be disappointed, he just asks the others: “Do you all live here in Nerine? My mom brought me to play but I’m from Sylva.”