:WYRM:
Gray as the skies that tumble into one another, the frost-white owl tips a left wing towards the earth and spirals in a wide arc above the expanse of the meadow. From up above, the earth below is a taintless blanket of snow, too thick for even the criss-cross of shadowy hoofprints to muddy and ruin. A blinding, pristine sheet of milk that hides many secrets from the plain eye. But the owl isn’t fooled.
He hears something: the tick of a noise that jerks his head about ever so slightly and then he plummets. His wings fold into his body so that he can dive and it seems as if the plunge will end with a spray of snow and ice … that is, until his wings flash open once more and his creamy tarsus’ extend to spring his claws open wide. A faint dip into the snow and they re-emerge, grasping a writhing, fat grey mouse in their clutches. A skilled hunter, and now a full belly.
With a few more lazy flaps and the careful flick of his leg joints the mouse is sent up into the air, where it flops downward again into his open gullet. He swallows, and then expands, forelegs bursting from the pale white breast of the bird while he transforms and turns back into an equine. When he finishes, he’s opted to keep the satin, ghostly color of the barn owl, along with the fine, strong wings that are barred and brown on top. His mane and tail are thick, a mass of tawny and chocolate, and they fall softly over his bright green eyes as he takes in the mare who seems to have appeared from nowhere, but is now heading his way.
“Peaceful, wouldn’t you agree?” He calls out to her, legs drifting smoothly, unnaturally, through the drifts of snow as he closes the distance between them. “A bit too quiet for my tastes, though.”