04-16-2016, 07:56 AM
WEIR
There is obviously no time to waste. As soon as the pair found themselves blinking into view, few hellos exchanged, young Neva is filled with excitement. That excitement soon leads to her bounding away calling for them to follow. As quick as her own hellos are over she is telling them of how she has something to show them, that they must come and see it for themselves. Well, Weir didn’t have to be asked twice, surely this was important.
Like a flash she is off, young legs carrying her quickly over the fields of the Dale. Weir laughs, taken with her enthusiasm that slowly bled into his own giddy excitement.
Legs were nonsense when you could travel in another manner especially with your tortoise soul in tow. With little prompting Weir grabs himself and Darwin, whooshing them both along the currents of air in a tumble of ice and snow. At first it had been most disconcerting this means of travel, he had even been sick a time or two but practice makes perfect, and in no time it was something he came to enjoy.
When she finally does slow Weir himself lingers in wisps, solidifying once more to creep along the southern border with the speckled child. Her eyes slowly scan the trees and he needs little more prompting to do so himself, observing the treeline with patient amber eyes.
He’s about to ask her what exactly they are looking for when she points out a curious creature peeking at them both through the green foliage. A small thing, its face dull against the shock of orange that surrounds it. Tiny fingers grasp at leaves as it watches them both with fearful concern, its dark gentle eyes portray its worry.
“Oh, it’s lovely Neva. Just splendid.” Weir whispers as he quietly watches the very out of place animal.
‘Leontopithecus rosalia’ Darwin adds calmly stretching his leather neck upwards towards the sky.
“A golden lion tamarin, or a golden marmoset. A bit lost maybe, or perhaps it was scared away from the Jungle during the War.” The sky had blackened from the many fires that ravaged the lands and it would be of no surprise if the Amazons had received their own share of that destruction.
‘They’re endangered you know and they move like squirrels in the trees. See its claws?’ Darwin is no stranger to the exceedingly overwhelming amount of information pinging around in the roaned man’s head.
Like a flash she is off, young legs carrying her quickly over the fields of the Dale. Weir laughs, taken with her enthusiasm that slowly bled into his own giddy excitement.
Legs were nonsense when you could travel in another manner especially with your tortoise soul in tow. With little prompting Weir grabs himself and Darwin, whooshing them both along the currents of air in a tumble of ice and snow. At first it had been most disconcerting this means of travel, he had even been sick a time or two but practice makes perfect, and in no time it was something he came to enjoy.
When she finally does slow Weir himself lingers in wisps, solidifying once more to creep along the southern border with the speckled child. Her eyes slowly scan the trees and he needs little more prompting to do so himself, observing the treeline with patient amber eyes.
He’s about to ask her what exactly they are looking for when she points out a curious creature peeking at them both through the green foliage. A small thing, its face dull against the shock of orange that surrounds it. Tiny fingers grasp at leaves as it watches them both with fearful concern, its dark gentle eyes portray its worry.
“Oh, it’s lovely Neva. Just splendid.” Weir whispers as he quietly watches the very out of place animal.
‘Leontopithecus rosalia’ Darwin adds calmly stretching his leather neck upwards towards the sky.
“A golden lion tamarin, or a golden marmoset. A bit lost maybe, or perhaps it was scared away from the Jungle during the War.” The sky had blackened from the many fires that ravaged the lands and it would be of no surprise if the Amazons had received their own share of that destruction.
‘They’re endangered you know and they move like squirrels in the trees. See its claws?’ Darwin is no stranger to the exceedingly overwhelming amount of information pinging around in the roaned man’s head.
WINTER IS COMING