Malik
07-24-2021, 06:35 PM
The black griffin standing beside him is the same age as Malik - about six months - and had hatched from an egg just as Malik had been born in the cave in Hyaline’s mountains last winter.
Or so his father has told him, and so the pair of them believe without doubt. As the sun appears from behind the thick clouds, the shadows from the horns that sprout from the colt’s forehead fall across the glistening black feathers of his voiceless and still-nameless companion.
Those antlers have recently begun to split into distinct forks, and Malik is quite proud. Their glow - and that of his black markings - are impossible to see in the bright sunlight, so he looks rather unremarkable save his horns. Just a black colt with a small white snip and curious blue-and-orange eyes.
He is not to leave the borders of the playground, his father had told him, and Malik has been dozing for the past half-hour because he’d very quickly run out of things to do when there was no one else around. The griffin had scratched at the ground and croaked something guttural that Malik has learned means: someone is coming.
So he scrambles to his feet, the soft feathers of his crest fluffing excitedly. Who could it be, he wonders?
At first he misses her, so still, but on a second sweep of the open space he spots something that he’s never seen. It’s a foal who glitters like the inside of a mussel’s shell, but in a shade of red he has never seen anywhere but in drying blood. Its an interesting color, and he trots forward on sturdy legs to greet the stranger.
“Hi!”
@Maurtia
Or so his father has told him, and so the pair of them believe without doubt. As the sun appears from behind the thick clouds, the shadows from the horns that sprout from the colt’s forehead fall across the glistening black feathers of his voiceless and still-nameless companion.
Those antlers have recently begun to split into distinct forks, and Malik is quite proud. Their glow - and that of his black markings - are impossible to see in the bright sunlight, so he looks rather unremarkable save his horns. Just a black colt with a small white snip and curious blue-and-orange eyes.
He is not to leave the borders of the playground, his father had told him, and Malik has been dozing for the past half-hour because he’d very quickly run out of things to do when there was no one else around. The griffin had scratched at the ground and croaked something guttural that Malik has learned means: someone is coming.
So he scrambles to his feet, the soft feathers of his crest fluffing excitedly. Who could it be, he wonders?
At first he misses her, so still, but on a second sweep of the open space he spots something that he’s never seen. It’s a foal who glitters like the inside of a mussel’s shell, but in a shade of red he has never seen anywhere but in drying blood. Its an interesting color, and he trots forward on sturdy legs to greet the stranger.
“Hi!”
@Maurtia