He leaves the sanctum of his obsidian shores, the rolling hills and quiet groves of his home. Beautiful, he thinks to himself as he flies over; big black feathered wings spread wide from his shoulders. He watches the carpets of heather and lavender shrubbery move under him as he flies low, his shadow flowing fast, smoke trail included. His shape is a darting umbrage over the landscape, smaller and smaller as he rises. Irisaen is wrapped securely into his long mane, his dreads make like vines to hold onto for a little three-foot snake. She hides as they glide through the warm daylight.

So convenient, these new shifting powers, even if he can only do a few things so far. He has mastered the wings of a pegasus, of anything equid already. He’s been lazy about practicing, playing with the wings a lot. Being earth bound for all his long years, he isn’t the most graceful of flyers yet, and a born pegasus would be able to recognize such a thing right away.

He touches down somewhere in the Field – seas of jade wafting in the winds. His wings ruffle and puff away in a spire of curling black smoke; a gust of wind sweeps it away, disturbing the smoke spilling from where his hooves touch the ground. He shakes, not sure what for, perhaps to take away the lingering shifting magic – sometimes his body tingles for a while after, and it’s not very comfortable.

He spots the young stallion right away, his ochre edges catching the sun just right. The golden twinkle of his antlers reminding Chem of someone he met once, and his lips threaten to smile on one side. He cannot help himself, and rolls forward on a confident trot, approaching the stranger from his left. He doesn’t close in fast, but moves in enough to talk, lowering his head a bit, he tips his head to one side and reveals a bright teal eye. “G’evenin’ stranger.” he grins, not deviously, but not quite earnestly either. He sees the stinging insect suspended, frozen. His grin deepens, the edges of wolfish teeth glinting as they show just a little. His head rises now, one ear upright and the other listening around. “Neat trick.” his voice is light, not accusatory or brash, chuckling a little as he says so. He wonders if the boy knows where he is, and what standing in the Field implies – was he a newcomer? He seemed it, natives have a different aura; but then again, Chem’s been wrong before.

chemdog

astra inclinant, sed non obligant.