paint it black; stillwater

[Lior]

I look inside myself

The male finds himself atop the tall trees, ancient and reaching. The mare, a pretty paint with gold on her hooves, had invited him to visit Sylva on the day he stumbled upon her resting amongst the clouds. She had seem angelic as she peeked behind the frothy churn of white.

Their conversation had gone in passing and he had briefly recalled the land among the trees. On a pleasant day as so, the black stallion decides to venture to this Sylva and interpret the beauty that Djinni so enthusiastically explained.

Heavy feathered hooves move him slowly, leisurely. Lior keeps the leather of his wings at his spine as she chooses to land and walk into the territory like the proper beat he is. No need to storm in like a wild creature and giving the wrong impression. He is just a visitor to a different land, curious of it's layout.

Silver pools watch carefully as he walks, the cold here was much more biting despite the thick shag of his dark pelt. Tangled hair shift and lap against the thickness of his neck with each sullen 'thud'. His demeanor is stoic, lips think as the whiskered jaws expel frost plumes of air, much like the dragon that lay just under his skin. A short call is offered, a quaint announcement of his arrival. 

After all, he had not been a savage in some time, but he catches a nip of the breeze. A scent that he had known in passing. Was it salt and cold, wet stone? Quite possibly or he was mistaking it for his own self. But there was something familiar that he could not quiet place.

Lior waits now, cool and patient, like the very rocks that had littered his cave not long ago.

And see my heart is black

[Stillwater]

Stillwater

The dragon didn't need to call out; he could sense him, smell him. He knew him, and that was enough to coax him from his deep little loch. The pet king slid from within the trees and into view, his black coat dark and damp, and hair dripping in twisted tendrils. He stopped still, their eyes met, and the predator-gray of his pushed forward in primal greeting to the powerful dragon in the other. An undulating rattle forced its way out of his throat, then settled back into himself, gaze clearing again to the natural blue-gray of melded spirits. Cousin.

He smiled slowly, intrigued by that new response, looking curiously over the physical changes in this man he'd known in passing as, for a time, they frequented the same pitiful caves of the meadow. You are reborn, he commented with almost a taste of pride in it, pleased at what he was seeing in the stranger that had not been much of a stranger, even then. He knew he'd liked this guy. His eyes were bright with interest as he studied him silently for a moment.

Stillwater knew he was unnaturally attractive, even to other men, even to straight men, but he wasn't trying to be as he stepped forward to slowly circle him. It was simply the manner of the beast to be a captivating lure to those who set eyes on him. His nose brushed appreciatively along those strong, leathery wings, testing the feel of them. He'd always hated birds, disgusting creatures. But this, he liked. This was definitely nice.

He rounded to his other side and halted at his shoulder, breathing him in and tasting Nerine. Home. Or, it had been once. His heart sank a little in his chest, his expression falling with it, remembering how he'd been there as the panther-child rounded up her followers to claim it, watched as she rose as a queen, then fell to Nayl's victory. He shook his head silently, but froze again at another scent. His nostrils flared and his muzzle buried into dark and chaotic hair. Nayl.. he breathed. Far too strong and knit tightly into the man to be only in passing.

Far too strong.

He glided forward to turn and face him again, his expression and eyes unreadable, and that slow smile returning to his face. She is well, then? he asked evenly. He never inquired after the coastal queen when Djinni visited, and she never mentioned her. They both were, perhaps, content not to bring up something that never came to pass, that never happened. It didn't mean he didn't wonder, didn't think back. He just never asked.

I'm Stillwater, he added, supposing it was well overdue that they knew each other's names.