11-15-2017, 04:28 PM
like the sun swallowed up by the earth
Beyond the volcano and high into the lush and green mountainscape of Tephra, heavy rains can be seen in the distance and with a thoughtless expression he watches. The storm would never reach the low-lying land that is home to the residents, (the gray and misty body of it would soon evaporate in the high temperatures) but the sound of thunder still ripples gently across the atmosphere, a muffled shudder against the constant grumble of the volcano. Had the clouds been elsewhere, snow would have fallen instead of crisp, hot rain.The tradewinds bring warm, sultry air against his auburn skin, playfully tossing the inky black tendrils of his mane and tail out behind him. He is plastered with salty spray of the sea, the rolling waves a gentle rhythm against Tephra’s rocky and bright shoreline. Something in the air makes him anxious; it is not a certain smell nor is it something he could see, it is not the sullen storm that growls behind him. A unprovoked feeling of dread sits heavily on his stomach, knotting uncomfortably. He shifts his weight, flexing the large navy wings at his side as if to settle himself, snorting gently. Perhaps it is the absence of his children (or even Tangerine herself), but something is amiss.
Bright and burning blue eyes shift slowly down the shoreline, catching a movement of white in his peripherals.
The winged stallion does not hesitate. Swiftly he canters towards the collapsed heap, his great wings outspread to help him reach her quicker. Her body is dulled by the blood and bruises that cover her, and the sudden smell that enters his nostrils now that the constant ocean wind is not pulling it away from him causes him to wrinkle his nose. Another is there, curious and cautious as he, pale gold with a coaxing voice.
He says nothing, not yet. He has only just returned to Tephra (to Beqanna in general) and the winged bay is still trying to catch up with all of the events that have happened in his absence. The two before him are completely unfamiliar, but besides the rotted stench of Sylva that permeates the red and white mare, they seem to be Tephran residents for the most part. The golden girl’s voice seems to stoke the other awake (is she, though?) and the woman stirs, a pale wing outstretching in response.
A broken dove.
Warrick whinnies gently in encouragement (and mostly in concern) as she struggles to stand, losing balance and fluttering wildly.
“Am I in hell?”
He glances quickly to the pale girl and then back to the woman, head lowering as he stretches towards her, brilliant blue eyes finding hers empathetically.
“You are safe now,” he says solidly, his robust voice heavy and clear in the ocean’s strong wind. Fearful that she might lose strength and collapse again to the wet and sandy shore, he steps closer to her side so that he might be a support for her, just in case her legs fail her. He does not know her and has no idea what has happened, or how she may react to his standing beside her, but his concern for her safety outweighs the chance that she might place a well-aimed kick or bite to his shoulder.
He looks to the other helplessly, his stoic blue eyes searching hers. He too, has no extraordinary talents to fix what has been done. “Let’s get her to fresh water,” he suggests, the cries of gulls echoing above them.
Warrick
@[Scyla] @[Femur]