i am the mace, the map, the fall and the high
Storms are nothing new on the windswept stretches of rocky coastline. The weather was always waiting out at sea, whipping the waves into a frenzy until they crashed upon these beaten shores. It suits Reave, though he hardly pays any mind to it. He has grown so used to the craigy cliff-lines and boggy moors, the weather that could change with little notice, that this new storm sweeping doesn’t seem anything unusual.
At least, until he sees who is heading the storm.
Cheri. A delight begins to grow in his breast, and he sets off along the coastline to intercept her. She could have flown on. He had seen her trying, one of the tangled lines that lead forward, but she would have been incredibly foolish to do so. And the Cheri he once knew was hardly a fool.
When he finally reaches the overhang she had taken shelter in, he is soaked. The flaxen strands of his mane and forelock cling to the red and white of his skin, drawing patterns across the glow of his bone mask. He cares little though, his blue eyes still gleaming with bright anticipation in the shadows of his armor. Rune, disgruntled to have been forced into the storm, dives almost heedlessly, dropping to the ground with an unusual gracelessness before quickly scuttling into the shelter of the stony outcropping, glaring at Reave as he fluffs his wet feathers.
The eagle’s ill temper only serves to bring an amused grin to his lips.
When he turns his attention to Cheri however, his features take on a decidedly impish cast. “Fancy having you drop in so unexpectedly.”
reave
@[Cheri]