Notice her, they did not, but after their games they descended, giggling and damp with rain and clinging mist. Wrena is the first to set her small feet into the shifting sand and shortly behind her came her pale golden sister. “Oh,” the skinny bay chirps with surprise and calmly folds her obsidian scaled wings against her rusty-red ribcage. “Hey.” The youngest sister offers a smile, hesitant but kind still. Oleandar slides to stand beside her sister, her wings neatly hidden and their tails wiggling in the breeze behind her.
“Hello to you.” Oleandar’s smile is more practiced and comfortable upon her pearly pink lips as she approaches. “I am Oleandar, and this is my sister, Wrena.” She turns to her sister and they both nod to one another before Olea’s eyes drift back to the dappled mare. “Are you from here?” She looks around, up and down and to the sea. “It is a peace you can find nowhere else, certainly.”
Wrena looks on with curiosity and a little bit of anxiety. Oleandar is more social than both her mother and sister – her mother, according to her, is a vicious recluse and Wrena simply cares not for anyone she does not already know.. Olea is naturally diplomatic, courteous and cunning.
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