03-16-2017, 06:24 PM
Epithet collects herself against the warm breeze that lifts her pale mane, fanning across her neck as she steels herself (or attempts) to Magnus' charm. Ears are rotated towards the buckskin as he answers, noting the way he shifts his weight, the roll of muscular shoulders but it is the ghost of a smile that seems to fflutter like tiny wings across his lips. Epi almost wonders if it is the smile that he uses to shield himself rather than the courage in his breast or the wings that had one tucked against his spine (though she does not know this).
Her own lips turn upward into a pleased smile when he accepts her offer for a stroll. Epi is warm, smiling, and finally feeling something close to pleasure. Not in an indecent sense but more so that she can feel content in an enjoyable walk with a handsome gentleman on a beach. Honestly, could anyone blame her? But just as she is about to start a sentence, the sand is splattering against the alabaster of her hide, the stallion's deep laugh vibrating against her skin. She in turn follows in his steps, kicking high the golden grains, her laugh trailing behind her.
The mare knows she can be any creature and overtake him. She can shift, change, mold her body at a whim but why should she do so when all this was is a simple, fun game? This race was not meant to be any more than just two souls along a dotted coastline. The pale woman moves in the bat of an eye (or a wing) and she is gone. A tiny hummingbird, shining and squeaking, flits close to the stallion's shoulder. It was easy for her to keep his pace and does so with a whirl of small wings.
Epi pushes past the stallion to hover before his eyes backwards and squeaking happily in her small chirps but the wind catches her off guard and tosses her small body in a jerk at the stallion, throwing her across his brow and rolling off before her tiny feet manage to grip a wisp of black mane. Angry little squeaks pipe up from the disheveled mess of his mane before she is back in control and once more fluttering just above his brow, small feet clinging to the blown back forelock of Magnus but this time she faces forward, cautious to stay clinging to his hair as she races with him rather than against him.
Her own lips turn upward into a pleased smile when he accepts her offer for a stroll. Epi is warm, smiling, and finally feeling something close to pleasure. Not in an indecent sense but more so that she can feel content in an enjoyable walk with a handsome gentleman on a beach. Honestly, could anyone blame her? But just as she is about to start a sentence, the sand is splattering against the alabaster of her hide, the stallion's deep laugh vibrating against her skin. She in turn follows in his steps, kicking high the golden grains, her laugh trailing behind her.
The mare knows she can be any creature and overtake him. She can shift, change, mold her body at a whim but why should she do so when all this was is a simple, fun game? This race was not meant to be any more than just two souls along a dotted coastline. The pale woman moves in the bat of an eye (or a wing) and she is gone. A tiny hummingbird, shining and squeaking, flits close to the stallion's shoulder. It was easy for her to keep his pace and does so with a whirl of small wings.
Epi pushes past the stallion to hover before his eyes backwards and squeaking happily in her small chirps but the wind catches her off guard and tosses her small body in a jerk at the stallion, throwing her across his brow and rolling off before her tiny feet manage to grip a wisp of black mane. Angry little squeaks pipe up from the disheveled mess of his mane before she is back in control and once more fluttering just above his brow, small feet clinging to the blown back forelock of Magnus but this time she faces forward, cautious to stay clinging to his hair as she races with him rather than against him.
Epithet