11-19-2017, 08:52 AM
As the warmth of spring spreads through Beqanna, Jhene can all but feel her spirits do something similar. She fills warmer, fuller, happier. She does not have words for the sensation, but the palomino mare strongly suspects that the emotion is something akin to homecoming. What her parents had felt on the island, she thinks, but she feels it for the hilly realm.
The winged mare has left Loess this afternoon, has travelled south to the common lands. There is more conversation to be had here, time to talk with the rest of Beqanna, gossip to be spread. The forest is where she had learned that her Ivar was king of Loess, not simply a resident. It is where she had heard of the burning of Sylva and the rumor that Ischia was under a new regime. Since Jhene has always loved to know things, she will always end up back here eventually.
This time it is to the meadow, the sun bright and cheery overhead. The palomino’s wings are tucked tightly at her sides, the pale feathers groomed pristinely. Their ivory color is a stark contrast to the dark amber of her horns, twin spires of twisted cartilage. They end in sharp tips, which is at odds with the sweet smile on the mare’s blazed face. Her eyes are grey like the shore of Nerine, grey like the coat of the stallion that is lounging against a tree.
His aura of contentment is what draws her closer; Jhene wonders just how he can seem so very happy.
“Hello!” She calls out from the edge of the tree’s shade. They are far enough away that she hopes to have not startled him, but close enough that she can be heard through the chatter of the birds overhead. “I’m Jhene!”
The winged mare has left Loess this afternoon, has travelled south to the common lands. There is more conversation to be had here, time to talk with the rest of Beqanna, gossip to be spread. The forest is where she had learned that her Ivar was king of Loess, not simply a resident. It is where she had heard of the burning of Sylva and the rumor that Ischia was under a new regime. Since Jhene has always loved to know things, she will always end up back here eventually.
This time it is to the meadow, the sun bright and cheery overhead. The palomino’s wings are tucked tightly at her sides, the pale feathers groomed pristinely. Their ivory color is a stark contrast to the dark amber of her horns, twin spires of twisted cartilage. They end in sharp tips, which is at odds with the sweet smile on the mare’s blazed face. Her eyes are grey like the shore of Nerine, grey like the coat of the stallion that is lounging against a tree.
His aura of contentment is what draws her closer; Jhene wonders just how he can seem so very happy.
“Hello!” She calls out from the edge of the tree’s shade. They are far enough away that she hopes to have not startled him, but close enough that she can be heard through the chatter of the birds overhead. “I’m Jhene!”