I'm a beast; you can tell by my talons {Any}

[Frail Fire]

Talons

The click-clack-click-tick-tock-click-clock of my talons on the dry, cracked volcanic rock, as I followed the grey mare. I found it to be surprisingly hot here, and wished I was more comfortable in the water with my odd feet. Though I found it natural to use my eagle-like, taloned feet, I found it difficult to wade in the water past my knees, which made me feel even more unnatural. The rock, on the opposite side of the spectrum, easy to grip with my flexible, taloned feet, the rock burned the scaly skin.. So I was still some creature.. Some beast.

My coloration did not help; I looked like one of the small serpents we saw on the way here, with the green tones diluting the darkness of the grey underneath me. Though the lighter color meant I was cool than the dark mare who had brought me here. Rael Fire; so much like the name I had been given during my short time with the faeries.. 'Frail Fire'. I decided to just be called Fire, so people wouldn't think me frail and weak by my name.. I saw the silhouettes of other horses nearby, and wondered to myself if she knew them. Which I knew the most likely answer was a yes.

I'm a beast; you can tell by my Talons

[Sloene]

lady, runnin' away to the riptide

taken away to the dark side

Though Magnus and Aranea had shown her around some, the new land is a vast mystery that the grey girl is taking great joy in exploring. Sometimes it is hard to scramble across the ridges of cooled lava, but she is a wild thing, and sure-footed. And it is worth it – the expanses of cool green grass that stretch between the lava are a wonder, and the cool water is refreshing and beautiful once you get used to the remaining scent of sulfur on the air and the hint of it in the spring.

The mountain volcano itself is something she has not yet tackled, though she is curious to make her way to the top and see if lava still bubbles in the middle. Perhaps she should be nervous that it might suddenly erupt again, but that isn’t even a blip on her radar. A lack of self-preservation? Perhaps. She is considering the mountain today, grey eyes fixed at a point near the top, when the sound of another startles her out of her reverie.

Turning, she flashes a smile at the stranger, a slight tilt of her head accompanying the motion. Abandoning any mountain-climbing notions for the time being, the little gray mare turns to investigate her companion, not even a flicker of shock or discomfort at the strange color, nor the talons. An orphan herself, Sloene had been raised the only plain child amongst a gaggle of strange children, and her poker face is impermeable now. “Hello,” she says in her low, pleasant voice. “I’m Sloene. Do you live here? Forgive me, I’m new. Still trying to get my bearings.”

SLOENE

I've got a lump in my throat

cause you're gonna sing the words wrong