06-19-2019, 05:26 PM
The deer ahead of him grows larger, turning from soft brown to a familiar contrast of black and white. Castile, tall and proud, and then nothing. Pteron tilts his head and his olive eyes trail through the empty space between them in silence for a long while. He thinks of Gale, how his last memories of the boy are of a child that is now much younger than his remaining siblings. He smiles, but it is bittersweet – has that much time passed already?
The flowers that had grown over the little grave had been put there by magic just after the burial, but he realizes as he takes a deep breath of the autumn air, that six months have passed and they’d have covered it naturally by now as well. It is strange, and he is grateful for the distraction that Ori provides in the something that shimmers in the air beside them. Its not until he looks at it and then back at her that Pteron understands what she is asking – what she is offering.
He can see Gale again? Well, not really Gale, but something almost like him.
It is not something he’d have come up with on his own, and for a quiet moment he wonders about Oriash. He knows who she is, but it is only her most public identity. She offers to help him despite knowing just as much about Pteron, and the blue edged pegasus feels a soft sort of warmth grow in his chest. He smiles, and this time it is not bitter – only sweet.
“He was almost a yearling,” He tells the illusionist. “He had wings, and his coat was like mine, but with blue ripples, like shadows in the grass.” Pteron does’nt know the word for brindle. They weren’t stripes quite like Father’s, he thinks, and that reminds him: “His mane was blue, and it went all the way down his back, just like my Dad’s.”
@[Oriash]
The flowers that had grown over the little grave had been put there by magic just after the burial, but he realizes as he takes a deep breath of the autumn air, that six months have passed and they’d have covered it naturally by now as well. It is strange, and he is grateful for the distraction that Ori provides in the something that shimmers in the air beside them. Its not until he looks at it and then back at her that Pteron understands what she is asking – what she is offering.
He can see Gale again? Well, not really Gale, but something almost like him.
It is not something he’d have come up with on his own, and for a quiet moment he wonders about Oriash. He knows who she is, but it is only her most public identity. She offers to help him despite knowing just as much about Pteron, and the blue edged pegasus feels a soft sort of warmth grow in his chest. He smiles, and this time it is not bitter – only sweet.
“He was almost a yearling,” He tells the illusionist. “He had wings, and his coat was like mine, but with blue ripples, like shadows in the grass.” Pteron does’nt know the word for brindle. They weren’t stripes quite like Father’s, he thinks, and that reminds him: “His mane was blue, and it went all the way down his back, just like my Dad’s.”
@[Oriash]