08-19-2018, 08:51 PM
The crispness of the autumn air is refreshing. My buckskin coat steams in the pale morning light, and I can feel the rapidfire beating of my heart in my chest. I've just scaled a steep cliff face and stand atop a rocky hillock bathed in the pale rose gold of sunrise. My wings hang at my sides, but there is no longer and awkwardness in the way they hang. Indeed, I shake them out at the thought, and both settle neatly onto my sides. The bones, once mangled and broken, are fully healed.
I have not yet practiced flight, but my early morning climb has become something of a habit. With Delta weaned, I find myself with more free time than I'm accustomed to. Adding routine was my natural reaction to that, and as a result the body half-covered by feathered wings is growing visibly muscular. It is an odd sensation, being strong. It is better than fear though, and I am tired of fear.
Just as I begin to struggle with reining in my thoughts, I hear the sound of hooves. Turning away from the sunrise, I find Arthas standing nearby. The smile I greet him with comes without thought; it has been so long since I have seen him and I am genuinely glad to see his face. It's taken introspection (and I've had the time for it, at last), but I'm finally able to name the emotion I feel for the dapple grey stallion.
It's love. Warm and comforting and familiar, the same emotion that colors my memory of my mother and uncle. He feels like family, and I am grateful. I might have dreamed of fiery passionate love as a child, but wildfires are as dangerous as they are beautiful. With Arthas I have a fire enough to warm my heart, and the blue-grey of my eyes as I reach out to greet him.
"Arthas!" I say before I gently brush my nose against his in greeting. "I was just about to get a drink. Do you want to come with?" Taking a few steps forward, I am able to glance back at him over my shoulder. There's a playfulness in my long-lashed eyes despite the innocence of the question I ask. "What have you been up to lately?"
I have not yet practiced flight, but my early morning climb has become something of a habit. With Delta weaned, I find myself with more free time than I'm accustomed to. Adding routine was my natural reaction to that, and as a result the body half-covered by feathered wings is growing visibly muscular. It is an odd sensation, being strong. It is better than fear though, and I am tired of fear.
Just as I begin to struggle with reining in my thoughts, I hear the sound of hooves. Turning away from the sunrise, I find Arthas standing nearby. The smile I greet him with comes without thought; it has been so long since I have seen him and I am genuinely glad to see his face. It's taken introspection (and I've had the time for it, at last), but I'm finally able to name the emotion I feel for the dapple grey stallion.
It's love. Warm and comforting and familiar, the same emotion that colors my memory of my mother and uncle. He feels like family, and I am grateful. I might have dreamed of fiery passionate love as a child, but wildfires are as dangerous as they are beautiful. With Arthas I have a fire enough to warm my heart, and the blue-grey of my eyes as I reach out to greet him.
"Arthas!" I say before I gently brush my nose against his in greeting. "I was just about to get a drink. Do you want to come with?" Taking a few steps forward, I am able to glance back at him over my shoulder. There's a playfulness in my long-lashed eyes despite the innocence of the question I ask. "What have you been up to lately?"
