06-14-2021, 07:41 PM
a bright and dangerous spark
Through the driving rain and rolling thunder Cheri watched Reave’s incoming flight from underneath the cover of her spartan hideaway. She was sure of him - of who he was - long before she could make out any identifying markers, having spent so many days and sporadic passing hours in his company throughout their childhood. Between the larger moments in her life he’d been there, and it’d been his encouragement that gave life to Cheri’s wanderlust many, many years ago. Age might’ve broadened the distance between them and duty lengthened the time between visits, but Cheri could never forget the gift of the memories they shared.
Seeing him descend from the storm clouds lifted her expression, even if it hardly seemed to pierce Cheri’s dour mood.
She backed as much as she could to allow him room for landing, her dark yet captivating mouth twisting into a smile that was uniquely her own. A mixture of alluring and impossibly sweet, it suited her perfectly and disguised her heavier thoughts as the relative stallion and his eagle companion came one after the other to huddle with her, riding out the storm.
“Fancy indeed, My Lord.” Cheri dipped the tip of her nose down in a graceful arc toward her forehooves, and then lifted her head again with an equally impish smirk. “I heard the news through the grapevine.” She laughed with kind sincerity. “You think I’d miss the opportunity to fly by and give you a proper congratulations?” Cheri feigned a wounded sort of look.
She shook her head and tsk’d him, silently glad that the added weight of such responsibility hadn’t done anything to dampen his agreeable nature. He looked well; even under the sagging weight of a water-drenched mane Cheri could see how much the years had shaped him into something of a ruggedly handsome horse. “A family trait, for sure.” She considered quietly, knowing that the Northerners were a tight-knit band who kept their bloodlines and relationships close - interpersonal, almost. They seemed to mate among their own kind, a hardy type of hybrid breed that resisted dilution unless it, too, was enveloped into the fold. Unlike the lavish courts of the South where the best and brightest tried to outshine one another, they were more interested in developing lasting clans of family units. Their blood ran thick with salt and iron.
Reave would do well leading the sweeping cliffs and haunted moors she thought, and she prayed quickly that his exterior of white-washed bone (which had been so off putting to her once upon a time) would soon become a symbol for the ferocity and hardiness they represented to their world.
Seeing him descend from the storm clouds lifted her expression, even if it hardly seemed to pierce Cheri’s dour mood.
She backed as much as she could to allow him room for landing, her dark yet captivating mouth twisting into a smile that was uniquely her own. A mixture of alluring and impossibly sweet, it suited her perfectly and disguised her heavier thoughts as the relative stallion and his eagle companion came one after the other to huddle with her, riding out the storm.
“Fancy indeed, My Lord.” Cheri dipped the tip of her nose down in a graceful arc toward her forehooves, and then lifted her head again with an equally impish smirk. “I heard the news through the grapevine.” She laughed with kind sincerity. “You think I’d miss the opportunity to fly by and give you a proper congratulations?” Cheri feigned a wounded sort of look.
She shook her head and tsk’d him, silently glad that the added weight of such responsibility hadn’t done anything to dampen his agreeable nature. He looked well; even under the sagging weight of a water-drenched mane Cheri could see how much the years had shaped him into something of a ruggedly handsome horse. “A family trait, for sure.” She considered quietly, knowing that the Northerners were a tight-knit band who kept their bloodlines and relationships close - interpersonal, almost. They seemed to mate among their own kind, a hardy type of hybrid breed that resisted dilution unless it, too, was enveloped into the fold. Unlike the lavish courts of the South where the best and brightest tried to outshine one another, they were more interested in developing lasting clans of family units. Their blood ran thick with salt and iron.
Reave would do well leading the sweeping cliffs and haunted moors she thought, and she prayed quickly that his exterior of white-washed bone (which had been so off putting to her once upon a time) would soon become a symbol for the ferocity and hardiness they represented to their world.
@[Reave]