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Salomea blusters and frills and when she’s finally back on her feet and glaring at me, I hide my smile behind the placid look I know she finds infuriating. I’ve been told before that I’m too pensive, that a shy nature is a coward’s nature, an unbefitting one for the magnitude of magic that runs through my veins. But, I’m not, not really. I am quiet, yes, and I do not often have a lot to say, but I do not think I have a coward’s heart.
Salomea surprises me by changing the subject rather than re-engaging me. It is unsurprising, though, that she gets directly to her point. She tilts her head, raising her brow in that annoying way of hers. I think the stranger is going to clam up, draw back and turn and leave them to the woods but instead he grins. His lips stretch wide - too wide - revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth and I instinctively start forward to put myself between them and Salomea, who’s already jumped back and fallen - again. I’m too slow, though, still sore from our escape and distracted by the fact that the smile I’d first thought creepy and dangerous is suddenly not anymore. I blink slowly and look at Salomea. She’s recovered from her fright (for all her wild fervor, she is still just a child, a damaged one at that) and now stares at the many-toothed boy with a similar expression to the one I’m sure is on my face.
I frown at his introduction, ignoring Salomea’s giggling, and tilt my head. I don’t flinch when he raises a wing but distracted as I am, I feel the familiar itch at my withers as I struggle to regain mental control. I hate wings - it’s not just the outward appearance that changes, and growing new muscles in an instant hurts. Set once told me that there will come a time when the changes don’t hurt as much, especially if I practice. And I did practice. That was before, though, when my sole purpose for learning how to wield my magic was getting Salomea away from those that would use her.
I’ve never met a Stratosian. I’ve seen shifters before but this is different. I take in the brightly colored wings, the feathers that stand up along his spine. He’s more like a bird than like a bird … I don’t voice this out loud because it sounds absurd, and tilt my head at his name. “ Strato … she-N,” my tongue stumbles over the unfamiliar word. Salomea, her tantrum and fear seemingly forgotten, smiles back at Ravin and traipses about him, brushing her nose along his feathers before retreating to my side with a lyrical giggle. “I’m Meyer and that’s Salomea.” I don’t know why I give him our real names but I feel at ease around him. He’s young, like us, and seems friendly enough, despite initial appearances. For a moment I wonder how we got here, not just talking to a stranger, but exchanging pleasantries, too. Then Salomea snorts huffily and I remember exactly how. "We haven't seen you around here before. Are you lost?" Salomea touches her nose to my shoulder. I don't think she even notices the habit anymore. Her way of centering herself. The touch centers me just as much as it does her.
Salomea surprises me by changing the subject rather than re-engaging me. It is unsurprising, though, that she gets directly to her point. She tilts her head, raising her brow in that annoying way of hers. I think the stranger is going to clam up, draw back and turn and leave them to the woods but instead he grins. His lips stretch wide - too wide - revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth and I instinctively start forward to put myself between them and Salomea, who’s already jumped back and fallen - again. I’m too slow, though, still sore from our escape and distracted by the fact that the smile I’d first thought creepy and dangerous is suddenly not anymore. I blink slowly and look at Salomea. She’s recovered from her fright (for all her wild fervor, she is still just a child, a damaged one at that) and now stares at the many-toothed boy with a similar expression to the one I’m sure is on my face.
I frown at his introduction, ignoring Salomea’s giggling, and tilt my head. I don’t flinch when he raises a wing but distracted as I am, I feel the familiar itch at my withers as I struggle to regain mental control. I hate wings - it’s not just the outward appearance that changes, and growing new muscles in an instant hurts. Set once told me that there will come a time when the changes don’t hurt as much, especially if I practice. And I did practice. That was before, though, when my sole purpose for learning how to wield my magic was getting Salomea away from those that would use her.
I’ve never met a Stratosian. I’ve seen shifters before but this is different. I take in the brightly colored wings, the feathers that stand up along his spine. He’s more like a bird than like a bird … I don’t voice this out loud because it sounds absurd, and tilt my head at his name. “ Strato … she-N,” my tongue stumbles over the unfamiliar word. Salomea, her tantrum and fear seemingly forgotten, smiles back at Ravin and traipses about him, brushing her nose along his feathers before retreating to my side with a lyrical giggle. “I’m Meyer and that’s Salomea.” I don’t know why I give him our real names but I feel at ease around him. He’s young, like us, and seems friendly enough, despite initial appearances. For a moment I wonder how we got here, not just talking to a stranger, but exchanging pleasantries, too. Then Salomea snorts huffily and I remember exactly how. "We haven't seen you around here before. Are you lost?" Salomea touches her nose to my shoulder. I don't think she even notices the habit anymore. Her way of centering herself. The touch centers me just as much as it does her.
