06-14-2021, 01:21 PM
At first, she does not recognize Helion. His wings catch her attention first, brilliant and golden, with feathers so bright she lowers her long lashes for a moment until her eyes adjust. When she raises them, her purple eyes are lit with pleasure, having seen the golden hair and the face of the little wet sun she’d left beside the creek last summer.
Not wet today, and no longer so little she thinks, looking up to meet his gaze. The horns are new, and she looks at them appreciatively for a moment. A happy smile remains on her scaled face and in her amethyst eyes as she meets his gaze and says with a curious raise of her gold and purple brow:
“So you can fly now?” She asks, having come close enough to speak without shouting once she’s recognized him. The young nereid has often longed for the ability to fly, but she is practical enough to know that wings are of little use below the water. Wings are for those who walk on the earth, she’d tell herself when she longed too hard for another taste of flight like Grandmother had given her last winter.
A nereid does not need wings.
But she does stare longingly (and admiringly) at Helion’s for a moment longer before continuing: “How much longer till it’ll be you I see up there?”
Moira gestures toward the sun overhead, just past midday on the longest day of the summer. Memories of last year’s Midsummer Festival had been on her mind of late. They’re responsible for her presence on land today, when any other she’d be far beneath the sea. It is difficult to adopt a relaxed pose with such limited directional movement, but Moira makes do. She leans to one side as she looks him over curiously to see what else might have changed about the sun.
@[Helion]
Not wet today, and no longer so little she thinks, looking up to meet his gaze. The horns are new, and she looks at them appreciatively for a moment. A happy smile remains on her scaled face and in her amethyst eyes as she meets his gaze and says with a curious raise of her gold and purple brow:
“So you can fly now?” She asks, having come close enough to speak without shouting once she’s recognized him. The young nereid has often longed for the ability to fly, but she is practical enough to know that wings are of little use below the water. Wings are for those who walk on the earth, she’d tell herself when she longed too hard for another taste of flight like Grandmother had given her last winter.
A nereid does not need wings.
But she does stare longingly (and admiringly) at Helion’s for a moment longer before continuing: “How much longer till it’ll be you I see up there?”
Moira gestures toward the sun overhead, just past midday on the longest day of the summer. Memories of last year’s Midsummer Festival had been on her mind of late. They’re responsible for her presence on land today, when any other she’d be far beneath the sea. It is difficult to adopt a relaxed pose with such limited directional movement, but Moira makes do. She leans to one side as she looks him over curiously to see what else might have changed about the sun.
@[Helion]