06-17-2015, 03:11 PM
His Brother descends from the sky just after Crito stops. The bay roan looks admiringly at his wings, thinking they might have helped save him from sore muscles this journey would surely produce in a few days’ time. He’s not sure how many more trips like this he has in him, to be honest. A lifetime in the north has aged him far faster than it might have elsewhere – than it might have in the Jungle, even, had he chosen to remain. As he waits for the response to Hurricane’s call, he imagines what his days would have looked like in the leafy kingdom. How, as a man, he would have little responsibility other than producing more children for the women and defending the borders if absolutely necessary. Instead, as a part of the Brotherhood, Crito fulfilled neither of those duties: he has no offspring to his name, and can’t remember a single time he has engaged with his body.
How different life would have been indeed.
It’s not long before he sees her. She’s more eye-catching than the macaw had been, more unique than anyone else he’s ever seen. The fire leaps across her hairless skin, a burning beacon for the waiting brothers. Scorch, he thinks to himself, you always did have a flair for the dramatic. Far unlike him, of course. He is unchanging, the same speckled bay with storm-grey eyes he’s always been. Over the years his coat has begun to match his eyes; grey hairs grow alongside white in increasing number. His muzzle, once black as pitch, has lightened to flint. A toothy grin curves across his steely lips when he meets her gaze. He is almost certain her greeting will be as physical as it was the last time they met, and he braces himself for impact.
Instead of barreling into him though, Scorch is more reserved. She nips at his muzzle, and caught unaware, her teeth manage to connect. Crito winces at the stab of pain where she nicks him, but as he steps back, his smile doesn’t fade. It is simply her way, always has been (and he supposes it always will be, if she hasn’t changed by now). His only surprise stems from the relative innocence of the gesture compared to in years before. With a certain amount of bitterness, he realizes it’s probably due to his age. He shakes his head, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand.
“To King Errant, ultimately.” The old stallion knows she is asking for the winged stallion’s name, but he also enjoys messing with her whenever the opportunity arises. He allows Hurricane to introduce himself before pressing on. “We are here to formally secure the alliance between the Jungle and Tundra. Your Rhy has already gone before Errant. We decided to extend the courtesy to you as well.” He flicks his tail idly, knowing there is nothing for her to really decide more than has already been agreed to. His grey eyes look beyond her then, into the darkness of his once-home. “Might we come in? I’m not sure my Brother has had the pleasure.”
ooc: will add html later!
How different life would have been indeed.
It’s not long before he sees her. She’s more eye-catching than the macaw had been, more unique than anyone else he’s ever seen. The fire leaps across her hairless skin, a burning beacon for the waiting brothers. Scorch, he thinks to himself, you always did have a flair for the dramatic. Far unlike him, of course. He is unchanging, the same speckled bay with storm-grey eyes he’s always been. Over the years his coat has begun to match his eyes; grey hairs grow alongside white in increasing number. His muzzle, once black as pitch, has lightened to flint. A toothy grin curves across his steely lips when he meets her gaze. He is almost certain her greeting will be as physical as it was the last time they met, and he braces himself for impact.
Instead of barreling into him though, Scorch is more reserved. She nips at his muzzle, and caught unaware, her teeth manage to connect. Crito winces at the stab of pain where she nicks him, but as he steps back, his smile doesn’t fade. It is simply her way, always has been (and he supposes it always will be, if she hasn’t changed by now). His only surprise stems from the relative innocence of the gesture compared to in years before. With a certain amount of bitterness, he realizes it’s probably due to his age. He shakes his head, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand.
“To King Errant, ultimately.” The old stallion knows she is asking for the winged stallion’s name, but he also enjoys messing with her whenever the opportunity arises. He allows Hurricane to introduce himself before pressing on. “We are here to formally secure the alliance between the Jungle and Tundra. Your Rhy has already gone before Errant. We decided to extend the courtesy to you as well.” He flicks his tail idly, knowing there is nothing for her to really decide more than has already been agreed to. His grey eyes look beyond her then, into the darkness of his once-home. “Might we come in? I’m not sure my Brother has had the pleasure.”
ooc: will add html later!