My eyes open immediately at the sound of a snort and my ears flick toward it, though the rest of my body remains still. A slow inhale reveals it to be a stranger, and I raise my head slowly to meet his gaze. He is unfamiliar, with a broken coat that is not quite black and white (the light is too dim and red to discern the real hue). I pull my wings tighter around me (I doubt a bluff will work on a creature already circling me like a wolf circles a doe), the rustle of their hard silk feathers serving as both warmth and comfort. They are mostly a shade of pale cream that matches my hide, though the patch of feathers nearest my shoulders is a bold shade of navy with a thin strip of lighter blue below.
I've spent a lot of time looking at myself in the water, after all. There is not much else to do in the woods.
'How is it that you're able to sleep?' he asks, and I realize that to him I look just like I do in my reflection. Small, weak, with too-wide eyes and spindly legs. I had felt that way in the past, too, so I cannot blame him. Some days I still feel it, especially when I am reminded of my position in Sylva by the male residents.
Most days I let it happen, because I know that is my role. There is no use denying it, and I refuse to let Mother down even if she is long gone. Tonight though, I had been enjoying my dream of Ischia. I might even be able to catch it again if I can get this stranger to leave quickly enough.
"Come closer," I say, cocking a hip with exaggerated relaxation, the very picture of a willing woman, "And I'll show you."
For whatever reason, they rarely decline the request. It doesn't matter that I feel like a sparrow in this world of swans and peacocks, that while I am 'pretty enough', I will never be renowed for my beauty the way that the kelpies are. It doesn't matter who I am, only what.
They are predictable, the men, and that is why I know how to deal with them when I want to be alone. I let them get close enough, pressing against me in a way that enhances my gift, and then force emotion on them. Most often it is embarrassment, which is enough to send the cowardly among them (and so many of them are cowards) fleeing. The stronger ones fight that, but sadness is often a solution. So many of the evil monsters in Sylva are just broken children at heart. Then there are the ones that break through my shields and use me all the more violently for it (at least there is always lust to make the interaction shorter).
I hope that this circling stallion is not that last type. As I must twist to keep him in my line of sight, my weariness dissipates, and with it my warm dream of a tropical paradise. My position doesn't change, but my blue-grey eyes are narrowed with calculation as I keep them on the stranger. Most men don't focus much on the face, after all, and I want to be able to find out as quickly as I can what I can use to make him leave.
"What's your name?" I ask, reaching back to pluck a stray feather from above my left shoulder. I let it drift down to the forest floor like a pale yellow leaf, and turn my attention back to the painted stallion. "I'm Lepis."
@[Maugrim]
I've spent a lot of time looking at myself in the water, after all. There is not much else to do in the woods.
'How is it that you're able to sleep?' he asks, and I realize that to him I look just like I do in my reflection. Small, weak, with too-wide eyes and spindly legs. I had felt that way in the past, too, so I cannot blame him. Some days I still feel it, especially when I am reminded of my position in Sylva by the male residents.
Most days I let it happen, because I know that is my role. There is no use denying it, and I refuse to let Mother down even if she is long gone. Tonight though, I had been enjoying my dream of Ischia. I might even be able to catch it again if I can get this stranger to leave quickly enough.
"Come closer," I say, cocking a hip with exaggerated relaxation, the very picture of a willing woman, "And I'll show you."
For whatever reason, they rarely decline the request. It doesn't matter that I feel like a sparrow in this world of swans and peacocks, that while I am 'pretty enough', I will never be renowed for my beauty the way that the kelpies are. It doesn't matter who I am, only what.
They are predictable, the men, and that is why I know how to deal with them when I want to be alone. I let them get close enough, pressing against me in a way that enhances my gift, and then force emotion on them. Most often it is embarrassment, which is enough to send the cowardly among them (and so many of them are cowards) fleeing. The stronger ones fight that, but sadness is often a solution. So many of the evil monsters in Sylva are just broken children at heart. Then there are the ones that break through my shields and use me all the more violently for it (at least there is always lust to make the interaction shorter).
I hope that this circling stallion is not that last type. As I must twist to keep him in my line of sight, my weariness dissipates, and with it my warm dream of a tropical paradise. My position doesn't change, but my blue-grey eyes are narrowed with calculation as I keep them on the stranger. Most men don't focus much on the face, after all, and I want to be able to find out as quickly as I can what I can use to make him leave.
"What's your name?" I ask, reaching back to pluck a stray feather from above my left shoulder. I let it drift down to the forest floor like a pale yellow leaf, and turn my attention back to the painted stallion. "I'm Lepis."
@[Maugrim]
