[private] I'm breathing in the smoke of my mental illness's cigarette // Andulvar

[Trekori]

Trekori

i'm freezing, it's not winter yet
but my fingers and toes
are shivering beneath these sheets
and i feel so alone
i don't want to die, i want to sleep

He clearly isn't from here, if the way his eyes dart and his mouth barely nibbles the grass is any indication. But there's more to the black stallion than that: the wings, massive and impressive compared to my scrawny feathers: the horns, like lightning strikes frozen to his skull. My own a twisted, gnarled thing, and faintly glowing.

I am studying him out of the corner of my eye, just as he does me.

A warm gush of excitement runs along my nerves, from my head to my stomach to the ends of my legs, when the stranger lifts his head and approaches. I haven't had many interactions, at least not in some time. And this male, he is larger than most I have met, with a smell that none others carry. It's enthralling.

My purple eyes lift to meet his steadfastly as he speaks.

"This is Beqanna," I saw without emotion, studying his bleary smile, the way he looks travel worn and tired. Perhaps I will sound young to such a stallion, with years drawn in the lines around his eyes and the look of suffering in the curve of his spine. "You obviously aren't from here."

I step forward, shuffle my wings around my scrawny ribs, tilt my head to study him further. There's just something about him - I can't quite name it. Yet.

"I'm Trekori. Kori for short..."