03-03-2018, 09:27 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
Winter has the mainland of Beqanna firmly in its grasp; the stallion is glad of the protection of his overlarge black wings tucked around the bulk of his body once he has landed in the Field. He is hot-blooded by nature to begin with, and Ischia is quite warm all year round (as one might expect of a tropical chain of islands) and though the air above the islands can get chilly, it is somehow different here on the ground; ironic, that the man who called the frozen Tundra home quite happily for so many years is quite put out by the crisp winter air of the Field now.
Perhaps it is a sign he is truly beginning to consider Ischia his home.
The Alliance is rapidly approaching, and there is only so much one can do to prepare for it, and he has reached his limit of shadowboxing fake opponents on the shores of the largest island – at his age and experience, he is either ready for the tournament or he is not. So the trip to the Field is a device to take his mind off of his other troubles and attempt to bring a new face home. The Kingdom could use more life in it.
As he strolls along his fancy is caught by the girl with so many spots (even from a distance, he is intrigued), and when she appears to collapse to the ground he hastens his pace, amber eyes alert and ears pricked forward. But she appears unharmed as he draws near – her eyes alternating from himself to the horizon behind him; he had flown in on the winds propelling this storm, and suspects he won’t be flying home until it is finished. “Excuse me,” he quirks a half-smile for her, but the concern is still lurking in his gaze. “I hope you are not injured, just tired…?” he lets the words hang for a response, before adding with the slightest tilt of his head, “I’m Brennen, of Ischia.”
Perhaps it is a sign he is truly beginning to consider Ischia his home.
The Alliance is rapidly approaching, and there is only so much one can do to prepare for it, and he has reached his limit of shadowboxing fake opponents on the shores of the largest island – at his age and experience, he is either ready for the tournament or he is not. So the trip to the Field is a device to take his mind off of his other troubles and attempt to bring a new face home. The Kingdom could use more life in it.
As he strolls along his fancy is caught by the girl with so many spots (even from a distance, he is intrigued), and when she appears to collapse to the ground he hastens his pace, amber eyes alert and ears pricked forward. But she appears unharmed as he draws near – her eyes alternating from himself to the horizon behind him; he had flown in on the winds propelling this storm, and suspects he won’t be flying home until it is finished. “Excuse me,” he quirks a half-smile for her, but the concern is still lurking in his gaze. “I hope you are not injured, just tired…?” he lets the words hang for a response, before adding with the slightest tilt of his head, “I’m Brennen, of Ischia.”
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