02-28-2018, 06:11 PM
we are crooked souls trying to stay up straight
There is a flutter of movement to his shoulder - a soft and sweeping feeling that is gentle against the coiled muscle that remains taut beneath auburn skin - and his bright eyes (dulled with worry) flicker to the source. The winged-bay is not surprised to find that Amorette has come to his aide, and recognized the concern that storms beneath his stoic facade, and is quick to reassure him. The bay man inhales deeply, the familiar curve of his navy lips finding his face, and he quickly bumps noses with her before the sound of pine needles brushed by slender legs turns his attention elsewhere. They are greeted first by a woman of deep gold (like the sands of the deserts) and dipped in ivory. She is not Ellyse - which he knew to expect - but with the reality of the situation setting in, he can feel his chest tighten. Instead, he begins to focus on the mare that carefully makes her way towards them. She smells distinctly of the woodlands, though also of sunshine and fresh water, and as the sun begins to dim beneath the trees and the horizon line, Warrick realizes the dryness that is found in his throat. He swallows, offering her an equally warm smile, his brows quirking upwards as Amorette quickly steps in, acknowledging the woman who calls herself Lavendel with a term of endearment, Lamb.
The darkening forest is quickly illuminated by another - brilliantly glossed in moonstone with the iridescence of pearl, a walking moonbeam dances among them. Her skin seems molten, moving like liquid beneath the shadows of the silent wood, coming alive beneath random beams of moonlight and dying sun. She situates herself before him, her wings tucked in closely at her sides, the feathers more vibrant as she now stands before him directly. The ivory woman (though also clad in orange and blue and silver) nods her head to him, the movement sending fractiles of color dancing across her neck and face. He returns her gesture with a slight dip of his head, his brilliant blue gaze locked on the opalescent queen before him.
“Lavendel, Sabra. We are glad to be in your company this night,” he greets them, his voice dark and husky against the stillness of this autumn night, as well as the gentler tones of the women. “I am sorry to intrude at such a late hour - though from past experience, Sylva always is most beautiful at sunset.” The forest had been cloaked in gold and rust of the dying sun, like flames shooting from the sky, but now rests quietly beneath a shroud of inky blackness, with silent and winking stars too far away to see beneath the thick canopy above them. “It is clear that there is peace across Beqanna, despite the many kingdoms not knowing much about the others. Our ties are only to Hyaline, at the moment, and Tephra would find it honorable to invest in our neighbors in this western wood, should these peaceful times soon come to an end.”
“We offer our friendship and kinship, in both times of plenty and hardship. A bond made with Tephra is not easily broken.” The man pauses, the shining blue of his eyes serious and unwavering - Warrick does not break promises, and though Sabra only knows him by reputation, he hopes she understands his intentions.
Warrick
@[Amorette] @[Lavendel] @[Sabra]