 The air here is dry, and it pulls the moisture from Celina’s tongue. The wind blows yellow dust into her seagreen eyes and scaled nostrils until she hacks and coughs, her eyes watering. She’d shaken her dark mane into her face halfway across the flat plain and it does passably well as a shield.
Why would anyone want to live here?
By the time she reaches the canyons that she is sure must be where the residents of this wasteland live, Celina is parched. Her long jaw is open, panting heavily even in the cold winter air. She raises her head to try and catch the scent of water, and the motion shakes some of the dust from her dark mane and causes her to cough again. Why would Dad choose to come here, of all places? Had he been truthful when he told her where he was going, or had he been attempting to throw her off? Celina hopes for the first, if only so this stomp through the dry lands of Pangea was not a trip wasted.
She could have flown in and landed here, where the canyons finally block the wind, but she had not wanted to seem at all suspicious. So instead she’d walked across the border, a pale figure that is impossible to miss in the noon-lit wasteland.
Closing her eyes and holding her breath, the mare shakes as much of the dust as she can from her body and wings. Some remains, a tawny film on her otherwise white wings, muting the navy and sky blue bars at her shoulders and making the iridescent pattern of her stripes even more difficult to see. With the wind gone, the fireflies emerge from their hiding place in her mane and begin to circle her as she strides deeper into Pangea.
“Hello?” She calls out as she goes, the sound of her voice strange in these echoing canyons. “Is there somewhere a body might get a drink around here? I’m parched!”
@[lilliana]
celina
i'm that bad type, make-your-mama-sad type
make-your-girlfriend-mad type, might-seduce-your-dad type
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