The smoke and fire and ash of the battle had attracted her north, but she cannot compete in strength against dragons, and she has no true taste for the same sort of wanton destruction as they, nor for the work of rebuilding. It is just the chaos and the change that draws her in, like a buzzard following a scent on the wind for miles. Now, she returns, spirits high and the scent of smoke and lightning clinging to her feathers. Even the clear air high above Nerine is unable to cleanse her of the smell.
For a time, she simply soars, and she is able to do so for hours, perhaps even for days if she didn't always become bored or distracted by something below. Today is one such day. The fields of Nerine bear scorch marks that do not fit the course of the battle that raged above the Isle, and in the midst of those scars, dark, sharp eyes spy a curious creature chasing the rabbits and hair-sheep that flee from his flames. She tilts her head curiously to better see him, those eagle-eyes able to pick out the details even from far above, and she tips her wings to bring her lower, a steadier descent than her first attempt, made easier by the windswept and mostly treeless meadows below. She lands in a great, wild, flutter of wind that flattens the unburnt grass around her. Even as tall as this stallion is, she dwarfs him in this shape, an enormous black bird with flecked breast and red-barred wings that she shakes in the air with a loud buzzing noise to settle the feathers smoothly against her body. Claws flex, digging into the rocky soil and she shakes again, all over, until she is a horse again, hollow bones shifting to solid, beak to soft lips that part in a mischievous grin, and those dangerous, taloned feet hard grey hooves that carry her smartly towards him.
Gods, but he's strange.
"Why are you chasing those sheep? Is one of them your Ma?" She presses in close to him without a thought, though now he is so much taller than her and far more dangerous. Her merry hooves are careful not to step on his claws, for all that she dances around him, nearly vibrating with curiosity. Scales and horns and stars and wings and flame! She aims an irreverent nip at him, teeth closing on air with a a bright clack, and tosses her head so that her thick forelock flicks away from sparkling near-black eyes. Ash and a stray feather drift up into the air, loosened from her mane. Beside him, the smoke-smell clinging to her skin is not so noticeable but the chemical smell of ozone cuts through it all like lightning.
For a time, she simply soars, and she is able to do so for hours, perhaps even for days if she didn't always become bored or distracted by something below. Today is one such day. The fields of Nerine bear scorch marks that do not fit the course of the battle that raged above the Isle, and in the midst of those scars, dark, sharp eyes spy a curious creature chasing the rabbits and hair-sheep that flee from his flames. She tilts her head curiously to better see him, those eagle-eyes able to pick out the details even from far above, and she tips her wings to bring her lower, a steadier descent than her first attempt, made easier by the windswept and mostly treeless meadows below. She lands in a great, wild, flutter of wind that flattens the unburnt grass around her. Even as tall as this stallion is, she dwarfs him in this shape, an enormous black bird with flecked breast and red-barred wings that she shakes in the air with a loud buzzing noise to settle the feathers smoothly against her body. Claws flex, digging into the rocky soil and she shakes again, all over, until she is a horse again, hollow bones shifting to solid, beak to soft lips that part in a mischievous grin, and those dangerous, taloned feet hard grey hooves that carry her smartly towards him.
Gods, but he's strange.
"Why are you chasing those sheep? Is one of them your Ma?" She presses in close to him without a thought, though now he is so much taller than her and far more dangerous. Her merry hooves are careful not to step on his claws, for all that she dances around him, nearly vibrating with curiosity. Scales and horns and stars and wings and flame! She aims an irreverent nip at him, teeth closing on air with a a bright clack, and tosses her head so that her thick forelock flicks away from sparkling near-black eyes. Ash and a stray feather drift up into the air, loosened from her mane. Beside him, the smoke-smell clinging to her skin is not so noticeable but the chemical smell of ozone cuts through it all like lightning.
Popinjay
She was not quite what you would call refined
@[ghaul]
