05-25-2019, 08:24 AM
“Ori.” He repeats, finding that the nickname she prefers feels somehow more fitting for the girl in front of him. Ori sounds lighter and younger, lacking the noble weight of her full name, much in the way that saying a name without titles does. Pteron nods, and there is something that might be a smile on his face for just a moment. It grows stronger, brightening his olive eyes as he watches her take in the incomplete product of his trials with invisibility. The dun pegasus knows how silly they must look, and he has never been uncomfortable playing the clown, so he considers her chuckle at his wings progress on their acquaintance.
“It’s nice to meet you too,” is the polite response, and he wonders why he’d not sought her out before. He’s always loved hearing stories from others, especially because he loves retelling them to the triplets.
Oh. That is why he hadn’t been as social, why he’d been keeping mostly to himself. Wordlessly, his face falls, but it is just after she looks away toward the deer. Though the smoke in the air has long since faded, the frequent spring showers often bring with them the scent of charred wood and scorched earth. It is a reminder of the maze, of the war, of the loss of his smallest brother. Pteron might have lingered in sadness for an uncomfortably long time, but instead he is saved from grief-stricken introspection by the reappearance and subsequent approach of the vanishing deer from a moment ago.
“Oh,” again, this time said aloud in wonder as the doe draws nearer. “How are you doing that?” He asks Ori, though his gaze never leaves the deer. “Can I touch it?” He hardly remembers to ask and pauses just before contact. Pteron thinks he can feel the warm breath from the creature’s damp black nose and see each of the fine hairs that line its curiously swiveling ears. He’s never been this close to a deer before, at least not an adult. The fawns are much more docile, and Pteron found them lying still and motionless in the tall grass of the Brillaint Pampas nearly every day last spring. It’s smaller than he anticipated and much more fragile looking.
@[Oriash]
“It’s nice to meet you too,” is the polite response, and he wonders why he’d not sought her out before. He’s always loved hearing stories from others, especially because he loves retelling them to the triplets.
Oh. That is why he hadn’t been as social, why he’d been keeping mostly to himself. Wordlessly, his face falls, but it is just after she looks away toward the deer. Though the smoke in the air has long since faded, the frequent spring showers often bring with them the scent of charred wood and scorched earth. It is a reminder of the maze, of the war, of the loss of his smallest brother. Pteron might have lingered in sadness for an uncomfortably long time, but instead he is saved from grief-stricken introspection by the reappearance and subsequent approach of the vanishing deer from a moment ago.
“Oh,” again, this time said aloud in wonder as the doe draws nearer. “How are you doing that?” He asks Ori, though his gaze never leaves the deer. “Can I touch it?” He hardly remembers to ask and pauses just before contact. Pteron thinks he can feel the warm breath from the creature’s damp black nose and see each of the fine hairs that line its curiously swiveling ears. He’s never been this close to a deer before, at least not an adult. The fawns are much more docile, and Pteron found them lying still and motionless in the tall grass of the Brillaint Pampas nearly every day last spring. It’s smaller than he anticipated and much more fragile looking.
@[Oriash]