like the sun swallowed up by the earth
Despite the grandeur of the wings at his sides, the blue-bay stallion rarely takes to the skies. On clear nights, where the moon hung lazily in the heavens and the stars made their way like a sparkling sea throughout the sky, he’d find use for his wings. He’d careen and swoop through the sultry night air, playing beneath the starlight yet above the world, either staring down into the rippling sea, crinkling beneath him like elephant’s skin, or up towards the endless galaxies that swirl above him. A perfect paradox; always stuck between his two homes, one of Tephra and one of the stars.Beneath the sweltering heat of the Tephran sun, the stallion makes his way through bramble and bush towards the open sea. His wings are tucked neatly into the auburn of his muscular body, their feathers freshly preened and immaculate. Between the normal sounds of Tephra (the viscous bubble of boiling magma, the splash of hard ocean water against spliced rock, the sharp call of lazy gulls near the coast), Warrick’s blue-tipped ears prick at the unusual sound (though not unfamiliar) of children’s voices and laughter, mixed with annoyed tones and shouting.
For a moment, he listens while he walks quietly, trying to pinpoint the source. He may have though it was his own children romping within the thick, tropical foliage, but the soft and distant voices were not that of his precious Svedka and Solace. No, this interaction was much different.
The stallion snorts sharply as the sound of a feral snarl (however tiny and miniscule coming from a child’s lips) reaches him. Instinctively and with immediate alarm, the great navy wings flex outwards from his body in a ruffle of dread, letting their lithe bones carry him faster towards whatever was only just in the distance.
The scene that unfolds before him is unlike what he is expecting to find, and in shock, he stumbles a bit as he comes upon the two panther cubs. He had perhaps expected foals to be in the vicinity, and he comes to a faltering halt as he is met with the feline stare of two very unafraid and very unhurt cubs. His wings, still outstretched in a defensive arch in attempts to appear larger and more frightening (and to intimidate any beast that he thought he would find), quietly bring themselves to his sides, laying haphazard and unkempt as they fold.
Taking a well-educated guess, Warrick figures that the snarl he heard is not from an actual panther, but from two very talented and young shifters. Of course, if he’s wrong, a mother panther could be waiting in the shadows.
“Who won?” he asks cautiously, watching curiously as one of the cub’s cleans its shining claws, and noticing the other with a rather unhappy demeanor.
Warrick