05-20-2018, 09:25 AM
the secret of our world is written in the stars
Nymf steps towards him, and his chin tucks gently to his chest as if to make room for her to fill in the space before him. There is a curiosity about her (not as extrovertly appearing as Svedka’s own, but it is enough to create a small smile to alight on his pale, pink lips) as she answers him, timidly tilting her head with a simple nod of agreement. The imagery she gives him - a changing tide - receives a knowing look from the gold and white painted stallion. Born from the forges of fire and unforgiving seas of Tephra, he knows all about the uncontrollable ocean and its tides, and Svedka decides that it describes the Nerinian women fairly well.
He notices her hesitation, and does not press her. He is aware of the boldness of his questioning curiosity, and offers no pushing or prodding if they did not seem interested in answering it. Despite his yearning for learning new information and stories, he didn’t like putting others in a strange and uncomfortable position, so he almost believes she will not answer him at all - which he is okay with. He snorts softly though, interestedly, as her voice offers him a simple reply: ‘It was a lot like this one.’ Svedka smiles, allowing her the opportunity to see that he did not mind that she didn’t care to divulge anymore than that. He is still a stranger, after all.
For Svedka, however, no one is a stranger.
So, instead of forcing her to give him more of her story, he allows her to hear some of his.
“My mother is from elsewhere,” he tells her with a tiny toss of his head, the red-and-black hawk feather behind his ear framing the sharpness of his pale golden jawline, “I have visited, once.” I want to go again. “They are a vibrant people, my kin. They dance beneath the stars and beside the flames, drowning out the night with their hoofbeats and songs. There is no magic there, like here, but sometimes,” the stallion pauses, his cerulean gaze sparkling with mirth, “I truly believe they hold more magic than all of Beqanna.”
He notices her hesitation, and does not press her. He is aware of the boldness of his questioning curiosity, and offers no pushing or prodding if they did not seem interested in answering it. Despite his yearning for learning new information and stories, he didn’t like putting others in a strange and uncomfortable position, so he almost believes she will not answer him at all - which he is okay with. He snorts softly though, interestedly, as her voice offers him a simple reply: ‘It was a lot like this one.’ Svedka smiles, allowing her the opportunity to see that he did not mind that she didn’t care to divulge anymore than that. He is still a stranger, after all.
For Svedka, however, no one is a stranger.
So, instead of forcing her to give him more of her story, he allows her to hear some of his.
“My mother is from elsewhere,” he tells her with a tiny toss of his head, the red-and-black hawk feather behind his ear framing the sharpness of his pale golden jawline, “I have visited, once.” I want to go again. “They are a vibrant people, my kin. They dance beneath the stars and beside the flames, drowning out the night with their hoofbeats and songs. There is no magic there, like here, but sometimes,” the stallion pauses, his cerulean gaze sparkling with mirth, “I truly believe they hold more magic than all of Beqanna.”
(be my escape)
Svedka
@[Nymf]