[open] would things be easier if there was a right way?

[Viszla]

The shape that she wears for the evening is unaltered, no shifting magics adjusting her appearance. Her reflection is still not entirely familiar to her, and the blue-grey eyes with which she watches herself on the still surface of the moonlit pool are intent. The snowy white spinal mane that grows the length of her golden flax spine she knows, but the lightning that darts along it and the shadows that extend impossibly far from its silken edges still set her belly on edge when she sees them.

A shake of her horned head does little to set her at ease, and Myrna closes her eyes and turns away from the water. The opalescent glow of her spiral horns illuminate the hard planes of her golden face, her furrowed brow, and tightly closed eyes.

The lightning continues to dance along her spine. The shadow of her mane reaches almost to her knees now, stretching of their own accord. Myrna sighs, and opens her eyes. She tries to make them stop, to disappear, but she cannot. She’s never been able to, but there is no harm in trying now and again. Just to be sure.

Opening her eyes, Myrna looks at the vista ahead of her.

The steep slope of the Mountainside falls away into the sea, a sweep of grey vanishing into blackness. The smell of saltwater is thick in her nose, and she narrows her reopened eyes against the chill wind. Across the wide stretch of water that had once been a freshwater river, the Forest still stands. To Myrna, it is little more than a haze of gray and grayer shapes on the horizon, but the nearly full moon and bright spring stars are enough to travel by.

And travel she does, sprouting a pair of white feathered wings, as pale as snow save the blue marked shoulders. Wearing them and spreading them wide, she leaps from the seacliff.

For one exhilarating moment her mind is completely blank.

Then the wind catches her wings and pulls her higher, and her blue-grey eyes have become those of an osprey. Her entire body has changed by the time she arrives above the forest. As a large white osprey with blue-barred shoulders, She lands in a rustle of feathers in a clearing made by a Storm-felled tree. With sharp avian eyes, she looks into the shadows of the forest. 


For what, she is not entirely sure.

ooc: idk what this is but i had myrna muse

[Hackjob]

cause i’m so dope and you’re a fiend

Hackjob has found himself wondering yet again. His legs had grown restless, as had his mind. She was there again. Her laugh, her smile, the way her name fell so delicately from her lips. The dappled green stallion was sure he’d outrun her, sure he’d buried the memories so deep that they would never be able to claw their way back out. But claw they did. Ripping him apart from the inside out, the hurt resurfaced. And so he did the only thing he knew how to do, he kept moving. With every ache and burn that shot through his trembling legs, he trudged forward to forget. Or to push himself to the point of complete exhaustion and hopefully just drop dead. Whichever happened first, he had no preference.

When his cloudy gray orbs finally focused on his surroundings, it was no surprise that tired limbs had brought him back to the forest. Afterall, this was the first land he had stumbled upon in this strange new place. His gait began to slow, legs buckling beneath him. ”This isn’t helping..” his mind scolded him. That’s when he heard it. A rustling sound, coming from his right. Curiosity taking hold, his hooves followed his ears robotically. In his brief time in this strange place, Hackjob had met a small handful of other equines. Memories swelled of Famkee, the beautiful horned creature who had informed him that not everyone here was as they seemed. Of course, Hackjob thought his emerald coat was quite unique, growing up he had only been told it was sickly and strange. But unique nonetheless. Until she spoke of the creatures soaring through the sky, or dwelling in the seas.

As he neared the sound, hooves planted firmly in the soil beneath him, his halt so abrupt a sharp breath escaped his parted muzzle. ”Oh, um…” he stuttered. Before him was not an equine at all, but a large snow colored osprey, only tainted by the hue of blue on its shoulders. Normally, Hackjob would leave the bird be. But this place was full of uncertainty, and his mind was racing. Was this simply a creature of the sky? Or was it something else entirely? Something he had never seen before. Given his track record so far, assumptions were not to be made. ”Erm, I’m Hackjob.” He managed, his voice echoing with a depth he had not anticipated. With a dip of his head and a gentle smile forming upon his velvety lips, he pushed on. ”I’m so sorry to have bothered you.”

@ Viszla 
ooc: hope you don't mind me jumping in! Also is that thread title from Someone New? I love Hozier (:

[Viszla]

The eyes of an osprey are its best sense, but the crunch of nearby greenery beneath heavy hooves is impossible to miss. Myrna turns her beaked head toward the noise, and the blue-grey orbs of her avian eyes narrow in a suspiciously un-birdlike way.

Her gaze finds an unfamiliar horse moving through the Riverlands toward her.

Myrna’s head tilts to the side, the stern shape of her osprey features hiding the uncertainty that might show on a different shape. Her few encounters with those outside her family have not been overwhelmingly pleasant. This stranger is a large stallion of rich coloring, and he wears the same exhausted look that so many Beqannains do these days. But is there is something deeper there?

Before she can decide, he sees her.

She tenses visibly, crouching lower as if in preparation to launch herself into the sky. But she does not immediately take to the air. He’s speaking, and it is rather hard to hear when flapping hard in take-off, and her confidence in her ability to escape allows her time to listen to what he says.

It’s his name, and an apology for bothering her.

That’s a better start than she’d expected, she must admit to herself. Though she doesn’t reply immediately, she does slowly straighten, no longer poised to flee, and turn her head to regard him more fully. This osprey shape is not a good one for scents either, so she has only her eyes to assess the stranger - Hackjob.

“Hello.” she finally replies. That her voice is the same regardless of the shape she takes is some trick of magic that she does not understand. Perhaps there are worlds where ospreys talk in normal voices, but at least in Beqanna, the ability to do so is indicative that such a bird is not really a bird. But perhaps he knows or suspects that already, since he’s talking to her at all.

“You aren’t bothering me. I was just…” Her voice trails off, because she’s still not entirely sure what she’d been looking for. “I’m Myrna.”

@Hackjob
Ooc: oh not at all, sorry it took so long to get a reply up! and yes, it is! I use whatever i’m currently listening to as thread titles haha