finger trips across my cheek----------------
----------------kiss me until i can't speak


Pteron wakes around the same time every morning, a habit that does not break regardless of when he’d gone to bed the night before. Some days – like today – that means that he’s gotten very little rest. Yet as he yawns himself to wakefulness, he traces the amber spots on the pegasus that still dozes against him, and the memories of what had kept them up so late is worth the weariness that he needs to shake away. Reluctant to wake her, Pteron extracts himself from Lainat’s embrace slowly, and by the time he stands at the lip of his nest he is fully awake. 

The sun is just beginning to rise; he can see the growing brightness even through the dense canopy.

Spring has just begun to creep into the north and as Pteron descends his breath his stills fogs in front of him. It disappears when he reaches the ground, lost in the heavy fog that has seeped in from the sea. The dun stallion takes a deep breath of the salty air, and releases it in a startled snort as someone nearly collides with him. The fog had hidden their scent and the rocky outcropping he landed near had kept them from view. Blinking in surprise, it takes Pteron a moment to identify the mare in front of him. When he had last seen Catcher, she had been a bright chestnut filly, and the greying mare in front of him is briefly unrecognizable.

But her voice is the same, even though he is no longer dreaming, and a smile of recognition grows on his handsome face.

“Catcher!” he says brightly, reaching forward to brush her nose in greeting. “I should be the one asking you that!” Pteron tells her with a grin. “I’m the one that lives here, after all. What brings you to Taiga?”

@[Catcher]

-- pteron --

finger trips across my cheek----------------
----------------kiss me until i can't speak

Pteron’s own comfort with physical affection comes with the knowledge of reading those who are not, and so after his brief greeting, Pteron draws back, settling for a smile when he might have offered a hug. He takes no pleasure in making other uncomfortable, especially not those with abilities as powerful as Catcher, but his embarrassment at pressing her boundaries soon becomes nothing to what he watches Catcher struggle through.

Pteron grins despite himself, perfectly aware of what she had meant the first time, and the expression only widens as the overo mare digs deeper and deeper into her frustration and flustering.

‘I’m the ass’, she says, and the tobiano stallion nods knowingly without successfully hiding his grin, and tells her with every awareness of the innuendo: “But a very nice ass.”

The change in topic comes as no surprise (though he does watch from beneath a hank of blue forelock for her reaction to what he had said), and the dun pegasus shakes his own head as though clearing away the memory. What he does remember is the likely reason that she has never physically been in Taiga. That is why he has recognized her so easily, after all; she is not someone he could easily forget. Pteron’s manifestations of Beqanna’s magic are such small things compared to her power. Asleep in her presence, he had been able to come nearly close, shaping the sleeping world as easily as she had. The power had been enthralling, and he recalls it with a slightly racing heart as she stands in front of him.

“I came with my parents,” he answers easily. “I guess serving in the Loessian army just wasn’t enough for me, and I wanted to check Taiga’s off my list as well.” Pteron is not (especially) vain, but just as he notices the changes in Catcher, some part of him hopes that she has noticed those in him as well. He’d been nearly grown at their first – and last – meeting of course, but he has added muscle now, and the crest of his pale neck nearly rivals his father’s. His wings shuffle just slightly at the thought, pulling at the muscle of his chest and shoulder in a way that often draws an admiring eye.

But she has not come here just to admire him, and Pteron wants more than just that anyway.

“So tell me,” he says, taking a step away to sweep one white wing out into the fog. “Is it better or worse than in your dreams?”

@[Catcher]

-- pteron --

finger trips across my cheek----------------
----------------kiss me until i can't speak


It takes her some time to adjust to him, but Pteron is a patient creature, and when at last she smiles back, it feels like a final puzzle piece settling into place. That she extols the virtues of his home as though they are flaws brings a dancing light to his olive gaze, though the dun stallion does his best to draw his blue mouth in a disapprovingly thin line. It’s a paltry effort though, and one that is fitting with the guilty shrug that follows Catcher’s accusation.

“You found me too early,” he tells her with what might be an apologetic shrug. “I usually try to take a mud bath before greeting visitors.” A rueful shake of his head precedes the next words, the mock seriousness begins to splinter. “Please do forgive me for not dirtying myself to the appropriate level, lady Catcher.”

They share a brief moment of solemnity, one in which Pteron follows her gaze out to the trees. There are few of them visible this time of day, when the fog swallows everything more than a dozen yards away, but overhead the charcoal grey canopy stretches impossibly wide. The pegasus enjoys this time of day despite that. The way the low-lying clouds swallow any sound (why she’d been able to come up on him so quickly), the way they soften everything. He can feel alone this time of day, even surrounded by his family and friends. But Pteron does not often desire solitude, and he is grateful for his unexpected company this morning.

He misses the way her grin grows mischeiviosu, and glances back just after she thanks him, but in time to catch the allusion.

“Oh, you think?” Pteron asks innocently. “I can’t have you doubting. Would you like a closer look?”

@[Catcher]

-- pteron --