09-06-2018, 11:51 AM
This time of year is no fun to find food in on this side of the world – well, it is difficult to find the right flora no matter which end of Beqanna she’s on, really, as it has to be specialized. Lucky for her there have been magical creatures of all types here for millennia, and the nectar eating kind, big and small, are nothing new, so the plants have adapted just as they have. She has always followed her keen sense of smell to find where the sweet liquid lies in wait, untouched, usually – not many lepitdoptera like her about anymore, apparently.
Frost blankets the meadow, seeming to glow a white-blue beneath the sliver of moon that hangs above in a cloudless sky. She flies as quietly as a star twinkles, not even the beat of her powdered wings can be heard as she soars low, her eyes peeled for anything night-blooming and frost loving. She knows they’re here, she can smell them.
When her toes touch the cold ground her feelers atop her head unfurl, and she extends her neck to sniff the air while she walks. Her colorful wings fold flat, each wing in two parts to put themselves away neatly, their tails flowing behind but do not drag. Her eyes, her detailed, sensitive eyes catch sight of glowing in her peripherals.
It is an equine, his points aglow, tusks protruding from his mouth. She contemplates simply walking away, but she has more than likely been spotted by now and if he looks her way, she will smile rather nervously.
Oleandar
the moth-child of elysium & city
@[Snout] (: