Set
01-09-2020, 08:36 PM
The bite in his reply does not anchor, nor does it spark a flame as he would have expected. She regards him with the same flatness that his father’s gaze once held. Akin to the hollow black of a shark’s, there is no answering emotion in the deep purple of the mare’s eyes. Curiosity floods through his body, deftly and effectively flushing out the rampant anger; the switch flipped on his capricious emotions. He shifts to face her fully now, ears flickering forward and then back again. Intrigued. When she answers his silent questions with all the enthusiasm of a rock, he lowers his head, cocking it to the side in contemplation. A star? He had met a lot of interesting characters in his travels to other worlds and underworlds. Shifters, aliens, creatures and gods of old. Monsters. Ana had borne him a daughter whose touch could hypnotize, and their son is a demon. Never a star, though. He would have thought that, given their brilliancy, they would be wondrously animated.
He has never considered what it would be like to not be rife with mortal emotion. To be fair, he has never really considered what it would be like to be anyone but himself. He has always been self-confident, staying on just this side of arrogance. Impulsive, volatile, erratic. All fine words to describe the piebald stallion.
He regards her a moment more, turning her name over a few times in his mind, examining it for the shine of familiarity. A lone coyote, its ribs sharp against its rough, dirt and sand colored fur, trots past, a tongue-lolling smile for Set, a blank stare for Islas as it drifts off toward the river. The small bats in his mane murmer quietly as they shift and resettle. Gold meets purple. “What is it like to be a star? Why did you have to be reborn?” His tongue holds a myriad of questions but these are the two he chooses first, earnestly. He shifts his weight. He knows what it is like to be reborn, at least, to suddenly inhabit a body that is your own but makes little sense.
He has never considered what it would be like to not be rife with mortal emotion. To be fair, he has never really considered what it would be like to be anyone but himself. He has always been self-confident, staying on just this side of arrogance. Impulsive, volatile, erratic. All fine words to describe the piebald stallion.
He regards her a moment more, turning her name over a few times in his mind, examining it for the shine of familiarity. A lone coyote, its ribs sharp against its rough, dirt and sand colored fur, trots past, a tongue-lolling smile for Set, a blank stare for Islas as it drifts off toward the river. The small bats in his mane murmer quietly as they shift and resettle. Gold meets purple. “What is it like to be a star? Why did you have to be reborn?” His tongue holds a myriad of questions but these are the two he chooses first, earnestly. He shifts his weight. He knows what it is like to be reborn, at least, to suddenly inhabit a body that is your own but makes little sense.