02-11-2019, 09:32 PM
As he watches the two horses pull away from each other, the young colt realizes that he’s interrupted something. He is not sure what – perhaps they are friends, or perhaps they are lovers – but whatever it’s too late to just leave them to their business. He is already here, he reasons; and he’s not really done anything worth apologizing for.
When the tobiano stallion inspects him, Pteron mirrors the action, looking over the black and white stallion that stands as tall as Pteron’s father, with raven-like wings and a curious gold marking across his face. Though he looks as equine as Pteron, his scent is strange. Nearly reptilian, Ivar thinks, and the boy wonders if the stallion is a shifter of some sort. Always intrigued with magic of any sort, Pteron’s eyes grow wide and hopeful as the man claims relation to his mother.
“You’re Castile.” He says, the awe in his voice not unlike that of a boy meeting the protagonist of a warrior’s fairy tale. “You’re a dragon!” At this moment his nose catches the scent of dried blood once more. Neither Castile nor the mare beside him look wounded. Pteron frowns, but is more polite than to ask a question about about a strange smell in the company of strangers. Well, one of them is a stranger to him, though he is clearly an unknown to them both.
“Lepis is my mom.” He tells Castile. ”And I’m Pteron.” This is said to them both, for while the black mare with her blue blaze hasn’t yet spoken, he knows it would be rude to ignore her. “I heard Vulgaris left. Mom and Dad put him in charge and I was hoping that a new king might mean they’ve returned.”
@[Castile]
When the tobiano stallion inspects him, Pteron mirrors the action, looking over the black and white stallion that stands as tall as Pteron’s father, with raven-like wings and a curious gold marking across his face. Though he looks as equine as Pteron, his scent is strange. Nearly reptilian, Ivar thinks, and the boy wonders if the stallion is a shifter of some sort. Always intrigued with magic of any sort, Pteron’s eyes grow wide and hopeful as the man claims relation to his mother.
“You’re Castile.” He says, the awe in his voice not unlike that of a boy meeting the protagonist of a warrior’s fairy tale. “You’re a dragon!” At this moment his nose catches the scent of dried blood once more. Neither Castile nor the mare beside him look wounded. Pteron frowns, but is more polite than to ask a question about about a strange smell in the company of strangers. Well, one of them is a stranger to him, though he is clearly an unknown to them both.
“Lepis is my mom.” He tells Castile. ”And I’m Pteron.” This is said to them both, for while the black mare with her blue blaze hasn’t yet spoken, he knows it would be rude to ignore her. “I heard Vulgaris left. Mom and Dad put him in charge and I was hoping that a new king might mean they’ve returned.”
@[Castile]