01-22-2017, 08:25 PM
hold me in this wild, wild world
'cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
'cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
Oh, the joy of flight. He is a creature of the air, and having his wings back is a bright point in an otherwise bleak outlook on how his life is currently going. His family and friends are scattered to the winds, Beqanna has changed dramatically, his beloved Tundra is gone, even the Falls is gone, and he was powerless for some time. But Djinni has given him back his first and most beloved magic, the black wings that spread wide from both of his shoulders. The rest he can patiently wait for. And a home of sorts he has found, in Nerine, but yet here he is again aloft above the Meadow.
He had two of his family members at his side before, and they had said they were going to join him in the new home, but he had not yet seen them there. Thus, he is back soaring over the tall grasses of the Meadow, looking for them. The stallion has no real reason to believe anything has happened to them, it’s not like they are children anymore, but worrying about his family has hard-wired into his system for a while now, and he’d rather check and make sure than be sorry later.
Not to mention any opportunity to fly. Once upon a time, his feet had barely ever touched the ground, but years without his wings has left the muscles at less than their prime, and Brennen wishes to always be in his prime. He has seen too many wars and other battles to ever feel comfortable unprepared to defend himself and those he cares about.
His landing, at least, is more graceful. Even with his overly large wings, it takes a lot of power to land a thousand-pound animal, and when the wings had been newly restored and the muscles lacking, nearly impossible to do gracefully. Now the bay stallion lands with little noise, nearly gently touch first hind and then forelimbs to the ground before folding his feathers tight to his sides, primary feathers touching the ground somewhere behind his rear end. The sound of wings pulling through the grass is louder than the landing itself, and knowing he couldn’t possibly have snuck up on anybody, he takes his time fluffing each inky black feather back into place.
Only then does he hear the complaint, flicking his ears to gauge the direction of the voice and then turning to regard the horned girl out of honey-brown eyes, quickly assuaging that she is by herself. And, well, he’s always had a soft spot for children. His granddaughters are twice her age, he’d guess, and don’t really need him to find them right away. He has time, and he walks towards the stranger to waste it. “Not with that attitude, there’s not,” he responds, his voice with a touch of a drawl and a neutral expression on his face. “I’m Brennen. What’s your name?”
He had two of his family members at his side before, and they had said they were going to join him in the new home, but he had not yet seen them there. Thus, he is back soaring over the tall grasses of the Meadow, looking for them. The stallion has no real reason to believe anything has happened to them, it’s not like they are children anymore, but worrying about his family has hard-wired into his system for a while now, and he’d rather check and make sure than be sorry later.
Not to mention any opportunity to fly. Once upon a time, his feet had barely ever touched the ground, but years without his wings has left the muscles at less than their prime, and Brennen wishes to always be in his prime. He has seen too many wars and other battles to ever feel comfortable unprepared to defend himself and those he cares about.
His landing, at least, is more graceful. Even with his overly large wings, it takes a lot of power to land a thousand-pound animal, and when the wings had been newly restored and the muscles lacking, nearly impossible to do gracefully. Now the bay stallion lands with little noise, nearly gently touch first hind and then forelimbs to the ground before folding his feathers tight to his sides, primary feathers touching the ground somewhere behind his rear end. The sound of wings pulling through the grass is louder than the landing itself, and knowing he couldn’t possibly have snuck up on anybody, he takes his time fluffing each inky black feather back into place.
Only then does he hear the complaint, flicking his ears to gauge the direction of the voice and then turning to regard the horned girl out of honey-brown eyes, quickly assuaging that she is by herself. And, well, he’s always had a soft spot for children. His granddaughters are twice her age, he’d guess, and don’t really need him to find them right away. He has time, and he walks towards the stranger to waste it. “Not with that attitude, there’s not,” he responds, his voice with a touch of a drawl and a neutral expression on his face. “I’m Brennen. What’s your name?”
hold me in this wild, wild world
and in your heat I feel how cold it can get
and in your heat I feel how cold it can get
BRENNEN