Ethenia
it was an honest mistake
The greater portion of Beqanna remains still unknown to her. She knows it is there, but she has very little notion of what it looks like or what it contains. An abstract concept, like time itself has become. She supposed there is a sort of magic about the place, she knows that strange things happen here unlike anywhere else in the world. In truth, her understanding of these things is at best no more than a supposition. Even her wildest imagination would not compare to what lurks in the shadows, to what the great mountain has spewed from within. And so she does not have the intuition to proceed with caution or be fearful—not in the way that she really should, if only she knew.
Still, she is not entirely a fool. Ethenia watches the snarl that curls his lips, hears the growl that rumbles from his chest. She would stand no chance against him, magic aside. She knows the grey stallion could overpower her with ease. The ethereal mare has been met with very little turbulence. This is how she has survived, after all: tucking herself away out of sight (out of mind). Watching time move and grow and change with no true scale to measure against it.
Ethenia flicks a delicate ear back, noticing the tension in the angles of his body. She wonders if he was crafted for war, a machine in comparison to her—everything that she is not. “I hadn’t meant to offend,” she offers softly, an apology of sorts. He is sharp, quick, deliberate—she is soft, slow, wayward.
She should flee, should not hazard the chance of vexing him further. The need for answers outweighs her better judgment.”I’ve never seen anything like you,” her eyes venture again to his wings, unable to abate the embers of her curiosity.”I’ve never seen wings like this,” she clarifies; cautious, but not quite fearful. She wonders if he can take flight as easily as a bird. “You are not how I imagined the angels,” she muses, inadvertently taking a step closer. A child lost in a kaleidoscope. ”Are you an angel of war?” she seeks to reason, unwilling to accept the possibility that he may be the thing the riddle of her dreams (nightmares) cautioned against. She always did choose to see the good.
HORSERYDER.DEVIANTART.COM
@Ashhal