11-19-2017, 11:12 PM
hold me in this wild, wild world
'cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
'cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
He watches when she responds, offering her a little half-smile as she claims to be fine, struggles to extend the wing that is clearly injured. Still, not broken because she is not in enough pain for that, so he assumes Sabra is correct in that it is something minor, like a cramp. Still, the bay is sympathetic, because he despises being grounded for any reason. Before he can form a response as such, though, they are joined by another, who falls much more gracefully before winding his way to them. He’s light like Sabra, but...purple. Brennen has met others quite a similar color, one the father of one of his great-grandchildren.
He frowns at the easy, proprietary way the man steps forward and licks Sabra, and all of his muscles tense but the cream-and-white girl is still, not drawing away, so he forces himself to hold until she breaks away, steps back, and then Brennen frowns, about to respond when the other little mare joins them, fierce even in her small stature. He gives her a nod, and a long stare at the purple stallion as he takes a half-stride forward, close enough to place himself between Sabra and the purple if she requests his aid. “No, it is not customary,” the drawl in Brennen’s voice is lazy, but there is an edge that says he could become more than an ornament in very short order. “I'm Brennen,” he offers his name again for the newcoming mare’s benefit before turning back to the stallion. “I don’t think we caught your name.”
It is curious, for the four of them all to have wings. Beqanna is a gifted place, truly, but still often their gifts are different. Perhaps they have all come to seek the companionship of others who love the skies, today.
He frowns at the easy, proprietary way the man steps forward and licks Sabra, and all of his muscles tense but the cream-and-white girl is still, not drawing away, so he forces himself to hold until she breaks away, steps back, and then Brennen frowns, about to respond when the other little mare joins them, fierce even in her small stature. He gives her a nod, and a long stare at the purple stallion as he takes a half-stride forward, close enough to place himself between Sabra and the purple if she requests his aid. “No, it is not customary,” the drawl in Brennen’s voice is lazy, but there is an edge that says he could become more than an ornament in very short order. “I'm Brennen,” he offers his name again for the newcoming mare’s benefit before turning back to the stallion. “I don’t think we caught your name.”
It is curious, for the four of them all to have wings. Beqanna is a gifted place, truly, but still often their gifts are different. Perhaps they have all come to seek the companionship of others who love the skies, today.
hold me in this wild, wild world
and in your heat I feel how cold it can get
and in your heat I feel how cold it can get
BRENNEN