Nyxa

These useless fucking wings!

It exasperates her to no end how utterly senseless the gods were to gift her with such taxing things like wings made entirely of water. Now, in the rush of Winter, they’ve frozen solid and ache with immobile cramps from being crossed over her back. Nyxa can hardly concentrate on walking, much less on keeping them warm because as a solid, they’ve become weighted and alter her balance. Through the Field she stumbles, a plush body spun from the color cream and thick with fur against the bitter chill. She’s a yearling still, growing every day but not yet past the stage of awkward limbs and slender ribs.

A young thing, but determined like no other. When she passes by the similar duo - a Buckskin stallion splashed over with white, along with a young colt who’s not yet chosen one solid color - she only means to glance their way and continue on but something stops her, right in her tracks.

She contemplates, shuffles the wings on her back until they tinkle against one another as glass would, and turns to approach them with a soft smile. “Hello there, don’t mind me.” She prompts at first, choosing to slow once more as she nears them, “I was passing through, on my way home I guess … do you two have somewhere to go also? A home?” She queries with the tilt of her curious head.

Wayward daughter of Canaan and Circinae

Nyxa

“We don’t mind at all, do we Hod?” The elder stallion speaks. The kind words are unexpected; Beqanna is a harsh environment and Nyxa (with all her youthful, worldly knowledge) has seen it chew the unsuspecting and spit them out as hardened, bitter creatures. That Bragi, who’d yet to give his own name, would be so forthcoming and attentive to her intrusion strikes Nyxa quite dumbfounded while his younger peer chimes in. Her eyes, rich byzantium and sharpened from curiosity, see these newcomers cast in an entirely more appropriate light.

She likes them both. “I’m Nyxa,” She replies at first, easing closer to watch the way Hod moved. The boy seemed distant - and this is the best terminology she can muster for it - as if he looked but didn’t see her. “and I’m going to an Island nearby. Apparently my mother-” She stops, turning her intrepid gaze away before it could be construed as rude, “Well, apparently she’s relocated our family there.”

Nyxa sighs. “I suppose you could say I’ve been walking around a lot too.” The growing filly laughs suddenly, directing her attention back to the duo. Briefly, inspiration strikes her. “You know, if the both of you are up for a little more travel … I’m sure you’d be welcomed. I could use the company.” She offers, features brightening at the thought. It would be simple enough, the tide would go out and with it they could journey safely to the quiet outpost.

Ischia was just the place for them, Nyxa was sure of it.

Wayward daughter of Canaan and Circinae

Nyxa

She hadn’t meant to offend and still the brief stare is caught, all the same. Curiosity still drives her, much like it does her mother, and it’s only the longing to understand that had brought about the glance in the first place - nothing to do with cruelty or ill-tempered thoughts. Nyxa herself is incapable of being a bitch, for lack of a better term; her edges and mannerisms are rough, but only because she’s been quite literally raised among wolves and still feels the ache in her neck from looking up to twin brothers.

It makes the idea of them being brothers all the more appealing to her. “Something else we share in common.” She thinks excitedly, mirroring the quiet smile Hod flashes in her direction. Bragi is outnumbered, it would seem. Between Nyxa and his enthusiastic brother, it hardly comes as a surprise when he urges her to lead the way. “You’re doing me a favor, I assure you.” She laughs, giddy from snagging a double on her first recruit attempt.

Fate has a funny way of working out.

“Our destination is Ischia - an island offshore that’s a bit too far of a swim from here.” She explains with a slight grimace, turning her hooves in a flurry of action so that she could position herself northwest, towards the Riverlands. The sudden motion causes her mane and tail to disperse in a colorful flag of green, every strand illuminated in the glittering sun as she twirls on light feet. Her wings, still hard and immobile, dazzle onlookers with their flashing sentiments and merry noise. She’s element and nature composed in a body of flesh and blood; Made-from-Love, as jah-Lilah would say.

“So first we’ll head to the River,” She beams, glancing behind to where her newfound friends wait. With the jerk of her pale head, she motions for them to join her and then just as swiftly she’s moving ahead into a brisk walk, all earlier worries about Hod and his condition forgotten with the urgency to simply get home. “We can camp there until the tide rolls out; it’ll be safer to cross without any water.” She chitters, animated in every gesture or move she makes.

What she doesn’t mention is that, by that time, more than likely it will be nightfall. Already the brisk chill is settling into her bones, before long it might be unbearable, especially with them lumbering north.

Nervous, she lurches into a slightly faster gait with hopes of calming her hammering heart.

Wayward daughter of Canaan and Circinae