04-09-2019, 12:01 AM
There is something in the way he says the word - coves - as though it is a treasure, something different than the easy way he’d said the same word when confirming the name of the kingdom. The reverence piques Pteron’s curiosity, and the soft blue of his ears swivel forward with obvious interest. He is intrigued and follows without thought, not needing the reassurance that they are beautiful, but smiling quietly to himself when he hears it anyway. Astarielle is all but vibrating beside him, and the tobiano colt glances toward her. He is as excited as she, though it is less apparent in the way he strides along behind Aegean.
It is his senses that are active, taking in each new sight and smell and sound with insatiable curiosity. Pteron’s home is filled with a great diversity of plant life, but there is novel greenery here. Like the delicately furled fern that he cannot help but slow his pace for, dipping his head so that the pale whiskers at the end of his nose just barely brush against its fronds. Catching up to the pair takes only a stride at a quicker trot.
Astarielle has changed color while he was busy taking in the scenery. Instead of orange on white she reflects the sand and the sea. The blue is nice, he thinks, before craning his head up higher to glance ahead of them. He is eager to see these coves that the antlered colt is taking them toward, especially given that their time to do so is growing ever shorter.
“How much farther is it?” He asks. It would be quicker to fly, but to do so would be to lose not only his guide but also the company of the two young horses beside him. Pteron is certainly unwilling to do that, so he contents himself with taking in what he can see from where they are.
@[Astarielle]
@[aegean]
It is his senses that are active, taking in each new sight and smell and sound with insatiable curiosity. Pteron’s home is filled with a great diversity of plant life, but there is novel greenery here. Like the delicately furled fern that he cannot help but slow his pace for, dipping his head so that the pale whiskers at the end of his nose just barely brush against its fronds. Catching up to the pair takes only a stride at a quicker trot.
Astarielle has changed color while he was busy taking in the scenery. Instead of orange on white she reflects the sand and the sea. The blue is nice, he thinks, before craning his head up higher to glance ahead of them. He is eager to see these coves that the antlered colt is taking them toward, especially given that their time to do so is growing ever shorter.
“How much farther is it?” He asks. It would be quicker to fly, but to do so would be to lose not only his guide but also the company of the two young horses beside him. Pteron is certainly unwilling to do that, so he contents himself with taking in what he can see from where they are.
@[Astarielle]
@[aegean]