05-15-2018, 03:11 PM
the secret of our world is written in the stars
Her voice is intrigued by his idea, his carefully woven words that spin a delicate tale of longing and purpose, all the while a breathless smile has overtaken his pale, pinkish lips. “Of course,” he reassures her with a rumbling chuckle deep in his chest, bobbing his head enthusiastically. “Everyone has a greater purpose - even you and I.” Here, the stallion takes a step sideways so that he may be nestled into her side, the white and gold and lavender of their bodies now skin on skin. Their closeness is innocent (he does not react for her with intentions of a snow-lit romp), though there is perceptible warmth and electricity he can feel between their cold skin that cannot erase the elated smile on his handsome face. The cold wind stirs, loosening the feathers from his mane and twirling them around the sharpness of his jawline, ivory and blue tendrils of forelock covering his eyes.
Her next words send him reeling ever so happily in his own mind; even a soft nicker leaves his mouth in utter bliss of her description. Svedka has always loved words and how just choosing a few can create an entire painting of a masterpiece in his mind’s eye. “Coming home,” he repeats in a gentle murmur, recalling that he had never heard anyone use that kind of phrasing before when it came to their ability. He thinks that he enjoys her answer the most so far.
“So you must never be far from the water then, if it is your home?” He smiles, his voice pooling into a cloud of vapor before his pale nose before dissipating into nothingness of the thin and cold air. It makes him wonder where her home is truly, or at least where she currently lives (Svedka knows better than anyone that home is not a place, but a feeling), and that thought brings him to the realization that he has yet to ask for her name. It is something he has done before; easily he can forget the small talk, overlooking the pleasantries and diving immediately into the daydreams and stories that he so dearly enjoys. “My name is Svedka, by the way. I’ve come from Hyaline.”
Her next words send him reeling ever so happily in his own mind; even a soft nicker leaves his mouth in utter bliss of her description. Svedka has always loved words and how just choosing a few can create an entire painting of a masterpiece in his mind’s eye. “Coming home,” he repeats in a gentle murmur, recalling that he had never heard anyone use that kind of phrasing before when it came to their ability. He thinks that he enjoys her answer the most so far.
“So you must never be far from the water then, if it is your home?” He smiles, his voice pooling into a cloud of vapor before his pale nose before dissipating into nothingness of the thin and cold air. It makes him wonder where her home is truly, or at least where she currently lives (Svedka knows better than anyone that home is not a place, but a feeling), and that thought brings him to the realization that he has yet to ask for her name. It is something he has done before; easily he can forget the small talk, overlooking the pleasantries and diving immediately into the daydreams and stories that he so dearly enjoys. “My name is Svedka, by the way. I’ve come from Hyaline.”
(be my escape)
Svedka
@[Kylin]