05-08-2017, 02:34 PM
A heavy cloak of fog surrounds him, deepening the natural gloom of the forest. He lay, the massive bulk of him, on a bed of damp nettles. The scent of pine spices the air heavily, but under that there is something darker.
Burning.
Pale vaporous fingers spiral and lift from his bay body. He is steaming in the winter damp.
The young stallion chose the spot where he lay, vulnerable, with care. Thick underbrush encircled him in every direction. To reach this spot he had made a tremulous crashing as he dragged his hefty body threw the interlaced twigs and branches. The dead brush hadn't resisted his weight or slowed his pace, but they had been loud. But now he had been here, practicing, for hours. He was aware that the drifting smoke he created could draw the attention of others. They are all so curious.
He wasn't necessarily avoiding others, but if he was going to be approached he wanted to know about it. He wasn't cautious, he was meticulous.
A look of concentration holds his features rigid. His eyes bore into the pine needles below his muzzle as they first steam then smoke as the water ininside and around them burns off. And then... slowly, beautifully, a slender tongue of flame reaches out from the dead foliage spiraling upward in slow motion.
Levi liked to be alone when he experimented with the dancing flames, his flames. Pushing his talent to its limit, stretching it until it hurt. The judgmental, wonder stuck, or indifferent gaze of others annoyed him. Compliments fell on deaf ears and criticism was usually met with a charming grin. Wasn't it supposed to be the other way around? Alone with his thoughts and his fire, he feels almost happy. But happy isn't a feeling he will coddle. He is cynical, but also a dreamer in his own secret way. He has ideas, scenes that he dwells on, for his future. In his time spent alone he crafts them into compact sequences of events to come. His thought are tight and orderly.
Before him the shard of fire twist slowly as he works to manipulate it with precision. The steady flame coils like a snake then forms a sphere, lifting to his eye level. He manages his fire in slow and controlled movements. The sphere grows. It feeds on the oxygen in the air and he allows it to swell, consuming. He gives in to it, indulging it, fire always wants more. He doesn't work to hold her back.
Too much. The blazing orb begins to hum, quickly gaining size. Then it roars, now larger than him it floats above his body threatening to spread to the surrounding trees, nettles, world. He is momentarily exhilarated, tempted to let the flaming tempest roar, blaze on its own accord, send it galloping. Let the deadly red flowers bloom across the forest to masticate all life.
But instead he draws the crimson eye down around himself, crashing her into the damp forest floor as he rises to his full height. Around his ivory legs his lover suffocates with a whimpering hiss; bellows of swirling steam a token left.
Comparative silence. His breath is heavy but low, the small grove cracking with the residue of energy spent. He shouldn't have let the flame do as she pleased. He had been weak, obliging. It wouldn't happen again.
He groaned.
But oh, how he loved to watch her feed.
Burning.
Pale vaporous fingers spiral and lift from his bay body. He is steaming in the winter damp.
The young stallion chose the spot where he lay, vulnerable, with care. Thick underbrush encircled him in every direction. To reach this spot he had made a tremulous crashing as he dragged his hefty body threw the interlaced twigs and branches. The dead brush hadn't resisted his weight or slowed his pace, but they had been loud. But now he had been here, practicing, for hours. He was aware that the drifting smoke he created could draw the attention of others. They are all so curious.
He wasn't necessarily avoiding others, but if he was going to be approached he wanted to know about it. He wasn't cautious, he was meticulous.
A look of concentration holds his features rigid. His eyes bore into the pine needles below his muzzle as they first steam then smoke as the water ininside and around them burns off. And then... slowly, beautifully, a slender tongue of flame reaches out from the dead foliage spiraling upward in slow motion.
Levi liked to be alone when he experimented with the dancing flames, his flames. Pushing his talent to its limit, stretching it until it hurt. The judgmental, wonder stuck, or indifferent gaze of others annoyed him. Compliments fell on deaf ears and criticism was usually met with a charming grin. Wasn't it supposed to be the other way around? Alone with his thoughts and his fire, he feels almost happy. But happy isn't a feeling he will coddle. He is cynical, but also a dreamer in his own secret way. He has ideas, scenes that he dwells on, for his future. In his time spent alone he crafts them into compact sequences of events to come. His thought are tight and orderly.
Before him the shard of fire twist slowly as he works to manipulate it with precision. The steady flame coils like a snake then forms a sphere, lifting to his eye level. He manages his fire in slow and controlled movements. The sphere grows. It feeds on the oxygen in the air and he allows it to swell, consuming. He gives in to it, indulging it, fire always wants more. He doesn't work to hold her back.
Too much. The blazing orb begins to hum, quickly gaining size. Then it roars, now larger than him it floats above his body threatening to spread to the surrounding trees, nettles, world. He is momentarily exhilarated, tempted to let the flaming tempest roar, blaze on its own accord, send it galloping. Let the deadly red flowers bloom across the forest to masticate all life.
But instead he draws the crimson eye down around himself, crashing her into the damp forest floor as he rises to his full height. Around his ivory legs his lover suffocates with a whimpering hiss; bellows of swirling steam a token left.
Comparative silence. His breath is heavy but low, the small grove cracking with the residue of energy spent. He shouldn't have let the flame do as she pleased. He had been weak, obliging. It wouldn't happen again.
He groaned.
But oh, how he loved to watch her feed.
Levi
so scream you, out from behind the bitter ache.
@[jenger] I would love for any of his family to jump in! But literally anyone can come across him (he is making a scene) I'm just rambling trying to figure him out.