04-05-2016, 09:11 PM
Misra
The afternoon had a quiet lull that was not entirely still, but still cradled her within the depths of loneliness that came with such silence. The gentle crooning of avians cooped up from miles away echoed against the few pines that had survived the fiery fury of war, and the obnoxious caw of a raven circling overhead pulled her from her brief reverie as well - yet there was something unmistakably stunning about the forest. The bleak, pale sunlight peeked through the various dry branches, shining its illuminating light along the ashen ground, bathing the dying land in its life-giving light. She lifts a wing to dip gently into the illumination, admiring the way the sheen reflects off of her silvery feathers, before she stills suddenly.
She is unaware of his presence until he is very nearly at her flank; her deep brown doe eyes soon peering into his own. She is breathless, wary and tense, and she pulls her wing close to her lithe body once more. He moved beside her, and her eyes followed the lines of his body - tendons and sinewy muscle rippled gently beneath his shining bay pelt and she swallowed slowly. He was a stranger, one that had moved beside her with such stealth that she had no choice but to scold herself for allowing her guard to fall so easily - and in such a thick, wooded area. She studied him for a long moment, tracing the strong, handsome lines of his face before her voice finally rose from the depths of her throat.
Fragile, cracked - but soon it found its strength.
"You are very quiet, Nymphetamine - I feel foolish for not having noticed you sooner. My name is Misra." Her gaze is now elsewhere, though she listens closely to his movements - to his steady, rhythmic breathing and the memory of his deep, yet lighthearted tone. She wondered to herself how long he had been watching her, or if he had been watching her at all. There seemed a strong likelihood that he hadn't - he probably knew of every shifting, moving creature in this burnt, soiled thicket.
"I am from the Silver Cove, but I have come .. well," She pauses, flustered with momentary embarrassment. It was such a ridiculous reason to have come at all; he was not likely to be here at all. She very nearly turned to go, to flee into flight through the small open clearing overhead, but she stops, and she looks to him once more, doe eyes earnest but sheepish. "I was hoping to find an .. old friend of mine, here. At least, I think he was from here .. his name is Siberian. Have you heard of him?"
She is unaware of his presence until he is very nearly at her flank; her deep brown doe eyes soon peering into his own. She is breathless, wary and tense, and she pulls her wing close to her lithe body once more. He moved beside her, and her eyes followed the lines of his body - tendons and sinewy muscle rippled gently beneath his shining bay pelt and she swallowed slowly. He was a stranger, one that had moved beside her with such stealth that she had no choice but to scold herself for allowing her guard to fall so easily - and in such a thick, wooded area. She studied him for a long moment, tracing the strong, handsome lines of his face before her voice finally rose from the depths of her throat.
Fragile, cracked - but soon it found its strength.
"You are very quiet, Nymphetamine - I feel foolish for not having noticed you sooner. My name is Misra." Her gaze is now elsewhere, though she listens closely to his movements - to his steady, rhythmic breathing and the memory of his deep, yet lighthearted tone. She wondered to herself how long he had been watching her, or if he had been watching her at all. There seemed a strong likelihood that he hadn't - he probably knew of every shifting, moving creature in this burnt, soiled thicket.
"I am from the Silver Cove, but I have come .. well," She pauses, flustered with momentary embarrassment. It was such a ridiculous reason to have come at all; he was not likely to be here at all. She very nearly turned to go, to flee into flight through the small open clearing overhead, but she stops, and she looks to him once more, doe eyes earnest but sheepish. "I was hoping to find an .. old friend of mine, here. At least, I think he was from here .. his name is Siberian. Have you heard of him?"
she rules her life like a fine skylark
and wouldn't you love to love her?
and wouldn't you love to love her?